BY ARTHUR.  J.  EDDY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF  CAPT.  AND  MRS. 
PAUL  MCBRIDE  PERIGORD 


ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


CANTON  &  CO. 


Ganton  swung  around  and  said  sharply, —  "  Why  did  n't  we  make  a 
better  showing  last  month,  Browning?"  [Page  12] 


CANTON  &  CO 

A  Story  of  Chicago  Commercial 
and  Social  Life 


BY 

ARTHUR  JEROME  EDDY 

Author  of  "  Tales  of  a  Small  Town"  "Recollections 
and  Impressions  of  Whistler,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  THOMAS  FOGARTY 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1908 

-1    O    'J    J    >J     i 


COPYRIGHT 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1908 

Published  September  26,  1908 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 

All  Rights  Reserved. 


Cfjf  lak«fbe  ^rcss 

R.  R.  DONNELLEY  *  SONS  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  OFFICE  ON  LA  SALLB  STREET     ...  9 

II.  GALA- NIGHT  AT  THE  PARK  CLUB       ...  30 

III.  NOTORIETY 42 

IV.  JOHN  GANTON,  JR 49 

V.  A  WIRELESS  MESSAGE 56 

VI.  THE  GREAT  STRIKE 71 

VII.  NOT  A  CENT  FOR  TRIBUTE 81 

VIII.  A  DINNER  AT  THE  GOLF  CLUB      ....  92 

IX.  A  DAUGHTER  OF  JEM  KEATING     .      .      .      .  119 

X.  ONE  SUNDAY  AFTERNOON 135 

XI.  A  GLASS  OF  WINE 165 

XII.  AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTER 186 

XIII.  EFFORTS  TOWARD  COMPROMISE     ....  204 

XIV.  THE  WORK  OF  THUGS        219 

XV.  END  OF  THE  STRIKE 235 

XVI.  BLOOD  WILL  TELL 257 

XVII.  JOHN  GANTON'S  REMORSE 284 

XVIII.  FATHER  AND  SON 303 

XIX.  MRS.  JACK'S  DINNER 319 

XX.  A  STRAIGHT  TIP 331 

XXI.  DELANEY'S  LAST  PLAY  354 


CONTENTS — CONTINUED 

XXII.     OUT  OF  THE  YARDS 374 

XXIII.  THE  SENTENCE  OF  DEATH 384 

XXIV.  JOHN  GANTON'S  VISION 396 

XXV.     THE  END  AND  THE  BEGINNING     ....  408 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PASE 

Ganton  swung  around  and  said  sharply, — "Why 
didn't  we  make  a  better  showing  last  month, 
Browning  ? "  .  .  .  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

It  was  the  regular  gala-night  at  the  Park  Club,  and, 

as  usual,  Mrs.  Jack  had  secured  her  favorite  corner        34 

Allan  walked  slowly  along  the  dimly  lighted  street, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  on  the  side 
walk,  thinking 232 

"You  remember  what  I  said  to  you,"  his  father 
repeated  in  harsher  tones.  ' '  If  you  marry  that 
girl  I '11  cut  you  off  without  a  penny !"  .  .  316 

"Not  much,1'  Will  exclaimed  jubilantly,  "I'll  hang 

on  until  it  touches  — "  358 


CANTON  &  CO. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    OFFICE   ON    LA    SALLE    STREET 

THE  day  was  hot,  very  hot  for  June ;  a  strong  southwest 
wind    swept    clouds    of   dust   along  the   dirty  street 
and  through  the  open  windows  of  the  high  buildings 
on  each  side. 

John  Ganton  sat  with  coat  off  and  vest  unbuttoned  in  his 
La  Salle  Street  office,  mopping  sweat  from  his  forehead  as  he 
pored  over  the  balance-sheets  showing  the  profits  of  his 
great  company  for  the  previous  month, —  his  company, 
because  he  owned  practically  the  entire  capital  stock.  The 
outstanding  minority  interest  was  held  by  his  son  Will,  a  few 
heads  of  departments,  and  the  managers  of  branches,  upon 
conditions  which  gave  him  the  right  to  purchase  at  a  fixed 
price  if  the  holder  ever  wished  to  sell,  or  should  leave  his 
employ,  or  die, —  conditions  which  bound  his  men  to  him 
without  permitting  them  to  exercise  any  real  ownership  over 
their  stock.  Furthermore,  the  company  was  his  because  he 
had  made  it;  his  brains,  his  industry,  his  genius,  had  built  it 
up  from  a  small  beginning  to  the  greatest  concern  of  the  kind 
in  the  world.  The  papers  before  him  showed  that  at  the 
"  Yards  "  in  Chicago,  and  in  his  plants  in  different  cities,  he 
frequently  killed  more  than  twelve  thousand  cattle,  about  the 
same  number  of  sheep,  and  thrice  as  many  hogs  every  twenty- 

[9] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

four  hours, —  over  sixty  thousand  animals  a  day.    For  the  ben 
efit  of  visitors  to  the  cattle-killing  room,  a  great  sign  read  — 


CAPACITY— 1200  CATTLE  PER  HOUR 


Yet  it  was  the  aim  of  John  Ganton's  life  to  double  the 
output  of  his  company,  to  make  it  greater  than  that  of  all 
other  packing  companies  taken  together,  to  extend  his  con 
trol  over  the  slaughtering  and  packing  industry  until  the 
world  depended  upon  him  for  meat. 

In  every  city  of  any  importance  he  had  established  his 
agencies,  until  the  sign  "GANTON  &  Co."  was  almost  as 
familiar  in  Hong  Kong  as  in  Omaha.  He  owned  his  own 
cars  and  his  own  ships,  and  each  carried  conspicuously  the 
blazing  sign,  "  GANTON  &  Co."  His  name  meant  more  to 
the  millions  who  ate  his  foods  and  consumed  his  products 
than  that  of  any  monarch. 

An  electric  fan  in  one  corner  of  the  small  room  which 
served  as  his  private  office  kept  the  hot  air  in  circulation, 
and  helped  some,  but  not  much,  for  the  wind  was  stifling,  and 
John  Ganton  felt  the  heat;  felt  it,  as  he  frequently  said, 
more  than  when  he  was  younger  and  worked  at  the  Yards. 
Besides,  he  was  not  satisfied  with  the  business  of  the  previous 
month  as  shown  by  the  figures  before  him. 

From  time  to  time  he  shook  the  dust  from  the  papers,  and 
scrutinized  first  one  sheet,  then  another,  as  if  searching  for 
the  weak  point.  They  had  made  only  a  little  over  four 
millions  in  May,  an  increase  of  only  three  hundred  thousand 
over  the  same  month  of  the  year  before ;  and  it  failed  to  sat 
isfy  him.  For  that  matter,  he  seldom  was  satisfied  with 
the  showing  made,  demanding  larger  and  larger  returns,  and 

[10] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

by  his  indomitable  will  and  tireless  energy  spurring  his 
lieutenants  on  to  greater  efforts,  until  the  force  in  every 
branch,  from  office-boy  to  manager,  were  moved  by  the  fever 
ish  desire  to  outdo  themselves  and  others;  to  make  each 
month,  each  quarter,  each  year,  better  than  the  last.  John 
Ganton's  spirit  moved  not  only  those  about  him,  but  men 
in  his  employ  in  far  countries,  men  he  had  never  seen  and 
who  would  never  see  him.  If  a  man  did  not  speedily  be 
come  imbued  with  that  spirit,  the  company  had  no  use  for 
him;  if  he  was  not  ready  to  sacrifice  his  days  and  nights, 
his  youth,  his  life,  his  home  and  family,  to  advance  the 
interests  of  the  company,  he  could  go.  Somehow,  such  was 
the  power  and  influence  of  the  iron-willed  man  at  the  head, 
that  men  fell  unresistingly  into  his  way  of  doing  things  and 
became  his  slaves;  they  followed  him  in  his  great  fight  for 
industrial  supremacy  as  soldiers  follow  a  successful  general 
in  a  campaign  of  conquest. 

As  he  put  his  short,  stubby  forefinger  on  one  footing  after 
another,  the  scowl  on  his  face  grew  deeper,  and  he  chewed 
away  viciously  at  the  end  of  the  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He  did 
not  smoke,  always  said  he  could  not  afford  it;  but  in  his 
earlier  days  he  had  been  an  inveterate  chewer,  and  while 
that  habit  had  been  partially  conquered,  it  survived  in  the 
chewing  of  cigars  he  never  lighted. 

Coming  to  a  report  which  was  particularly  unsatisfactory, 
he  called  to  the  boy  who  sat  at  the  small  desk  just  outside  the 
door  connecting  with  the  main  office, — 

"Tell  Browning  to  come  here." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  mopped  his  red  face,  and 
looked  out  of  the  open  window  toward  the  big  brick  building 
opposite,  where  he  could  read  on  a  long  row  of  windows  the 

I"! 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

signs  of  his  chief  competitor,   and   reading  these  did   not 
improve  his  frame  of  mind. 

Browning  was  manager  of  the  home  office;  in  reality  he 
was  John  Ganton's  right-hand  man,  at  once  his  ablest  and 
most  abject  slave.  Ganton  valued  him  without  knowing 
how  much  he  really  depended  upon  him. 

Browning  entered  and  stood  quietly  beside  the  desk. 
His  employer  swung  around  and  said  sharply, — 

"  Why  did  n't  we  make  a  better  showing  last  month, 
Browning  ?  " 

"  All  things  considered,  it  seems  to  me  we  did  pretty  well," 
Browning  replied  deferentially. 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  we  should  have  done  twenty  per  cent 
better;  there  is  something  wrong  somewhere.  The  com 
pany  needs  shaking  up, —  a  few  changes  would  do  no 
harm." 

That  was  his  way,  always  threatening  changes  but  seldom 
making  any,  for  no  one  knew  the  disadvantage  of  frequent 
changing  better  than  John  Ganton.  Yet,  strange  to  say, 
the  men  always  thought  he  meant  it,  and  trembled  and 
struggled  accordingly. 

"We  lost  on  wheat  last  month,  you  know,"  suggested 
Browning. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know:  bad  judgment.  Parker  ought  to 
have  known  better." 

"He  says  he  followed  your  orders." 

"I  told  him  to  buy,  but  I  did  not  tell  him  to  buy  all  in 
sight;  there  is  no  reason  why  a  man  should  lose  his  head 
because  he  gets  a  hint;  but,"  changing  the  subject  hastily, 
"  how  about  the  poor  showing  at  Omaha  ?  " 

" The  strike—  " 

[12] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

"  That 's  no  excuse.     Why  did  Billings  have  a  strike  ?  " 

"He  could  not  help  it;  the  men  demanded  an  advance 
you  would  not  concede,  you  remember." 

"  Of  course  we  could  not  give  in  to  those  fellows ;  it  would 
have  meant  trouble  all  along  the  line.  You  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do.  Billings  should  have  seen  the  leaders  and 
arranged  matters." 

"He  said  it  could  not  be  done." 

"  Which  means  he  could  not  do  it.  The  next  time  trouble 
is  brewing,  I  want  to  be  notified  earlier.  If  we  had  sent 
Norberg  out  there  in  time,  there  would  have  been  no  walk 
out." 

"  Perhaps,  but  it  was  a  difficult  situation.  The  men  were 
working  pretty  long  hours  — 

"  Long  hours !  That  is  always  the  complaint.  If  there  is 
a  man  in  the  employ  of  this  company  of  my  age  who  has 
worked  anywhere  near  as  many  hours  in  his  lifetime  as  I 
have,  I  '11  give  him  a  lot  on  Michigan  Avenue !  Long  hours ! 
Why,  men  nowadays  don't  know  what  work  is!  I  don't 
know  what  we  are  coming  to,  Browning,  with  all  this  talk 
about  an  eight-hour  day ! " 

Nothing  irritated  John  Ganton  more  than  a  demand  for 
fewer  hours  a  day.  He  would  rather  advance  wages.  All 
his  life  he  had  worked  early  and  late.  There  was  hardly  a 
waking  moment  when  his  business  did  not  occupy  his  mind 
to  the  exclusion  of  nearly  everything  else.  His  work  was 
his  play,  his  rest,  his  recreation;  and  he  could  not  under 
stand  how  men  could  wish  to  fool  away  time  that  might  be 
profitably  spent  working. 

Browning  was  too  accustomed  to  the  impatience  and 
irritability  of  his  employer  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame  by 

[13] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

contradiction ;  he  waited  in  silence  while  the  old  man  looked 
at  the  sheets  spread  on  his  desk. 

"Write  Billings  to  report  here  next  Monday;  I  will  see 
Parker  at  three-thirty  this  afternoon;  stir  up  Liverpool  and 
Vienna  sharply;  send  Rosenthal  back  to  Hamburg  with 
instructions  to  keep  an  eye  on  what  they  are  doing  in  Berlin,— 
I  expect  trouble  from  that  quarter,  they  are  bound  to  hit  us 
if  they  can;  look  over  our  reports  from  Japan  and  China, 
and  give  me  your  suggestions  Monday, —  either  we  don't 
understand  those  yellow  fellows  or  they  don't  understand  us, 
for  we  are  not  doing  the  business  with  them  we  should  for 
the  money  we  are  spending." 

"  They  do  not  seem  to  eat  the  stuff  we  're  canning,"  said 
Browning,  with  as  near  an  approach  to  a  smile  as  he  ever 
indulged  during  business  hours. 

"  Then  we  must  can  the  stuff  they  do  eat,  if  we  buy  up  the 
entire  crop  of  rice  and  rats. —  It  's  a  hot  day,  Browning," 
he  exclaimed,  dropping  the  papers  on  his  desk  and  facing  the 
window  once  more. 

"The  hottest  of  the  season,  so  far." 

"  How  are  things  at  the  Yards  ?  " 

"Cattle  and  hogs  in  bad  condition;  three  men  down 
from  sunstroke,  up  to  one  o'clock." 

"  'Phone  McCarthy  that  I  want  him  to  look  sharp  after 
the  cattle  such  a  day  as  this.  Be  careful  in  watering  and 
feeding.  It  's  hotter  than  blazes.  Where  is  Will  ?  "  and  a 
look  of  anxiety  passed  over  John  Ganton's  face  as  he  asked 
about  his  son,  a  look  he  tried  to  conceal  from  Browning  by 
keeping  his  back  turned. 

"He  was  at  the  Yards  this  morning,"  Browning  answered 
evasively. 

[14] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

"  Is  n't  he  there  now  ?  " 

"  Some  one  telephoned  he  came  down  town  about  eleven 
o'clock." 

"It  must  be  hot  at  the  Yards,"  the  old  man  remarked 
after  a  moment's  silence,  as  if  trying  to  excuse  the  boy's 
absence  from  his  place  of  work. 

"  Three  sunstrokes  this  morning,"  repeated  Browning. 

"Of  course,  it  must  be  hot  out  there.  Where  did  they 
say  he  had  gone  ?  " 

"They  did  not  know;  he  only  said  he  was  going  down 
town." 

" Did  he  get  his  mail  off?" 

"Well,"  and  Browning  hesitated,  "not  all  of  it." 

The  old  man's  face  grew  stern  as  he  said  slowly,  "That 
won't  do,  Browning.  There  has  been  altogether  too  much  of 
that  sort  of  thing  lately.  I  shall  have  to  talk  with  him, — 
that 's  all." 

As  Browning  went  out  he  left  the  old  man  still  looking 
out  of  the  window;  but  the  reports  on  his  desk,  the  heat  of 
the  day,  the  big  red-brick  building  opposite,  with  its  row  of 
windows  bearing  the  signs  of  his  competitor,  no  longer  in 
terested  him. 

Browning's  "  private  office  "  consisted  of  a  desk  railed  off 
from  the  others,  large  and  small,  that  filled  the  great  main 
office  where  hundreds  of  employees  bent  over  their  tasks, 
spurred  on  by  the  exhaustless  energy  of  John  Ganton,  who 
passed  to  and  fro  among  them  nearly  every  hour  of  the  day. 
It  was  his  boast  that  he  could  take  the  place  of  any  man  or 
boy  in  the  service  of  the  company  and  do  twice  his  work ; 
perhaps  he  could,  at  all  events  his  employees  believed  he 
could,  and  worked  accordingly. 

[15] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Browning  called  up  McCarthy  at  the  Yards  and  gave  him 
directions  about  the  stock, —  "  and,  McCarthy,"  he  added, 
"I  want  you  to  look  after  the  men,  see  that  those  who  are 
down  from  the  heat  are  well  cared  for.  .  .  .  What 's  that, 
McCarthy?  .  .  .  No;  the  old  man  did  not  say  anything 
about  the  men ;  but  he  knew  we  'd  look  out  for  them.  .  .  . 
Yes,  he  's  all  right.  .  .  .  By  the  way,  McCarthy,  have  you 
seen  Will  ?  .  .  .  Not  there  ?  .  .  .  Too  bad ;  it  worries  the 
old  man.  But  the  boy  is  all  right ;  he  '11  turn  up.  You  and 
I  must  keep  an  eye  on  him.  ...  I  say,  McCarthy,  there  is  a 
rumor  of  trouble  with  the  teamsters, —  anything  in  it  ?  .  .  . 
We  can  handle  our  men  if  the  International  and  Union  can 
take  care  of  theirs.  The  old  man  will  not  yield  an  inch.  .  .  . 
No;  no  use  of  the  men  asking  anything  now.  They  ought 
to  see  that  this  is  no  time  to  make  demands.  .  .  .  That 's  a 
good  idea.  Give  Fanning  and  Scotty  good  jobs  with  nothing 
to  do, —  they  control  the  teamsters ;  need  n't  put  their  names 
on  the  pay-roll;  send  the  memorandum  to  me."  Browning 
rang  off  and  turned  to  a  short,  thick-set  man  waiting  outside 
the  railing,  "  What  is  it,  Norberg  ?  " 

"Trouble  with  the  teamsters,"  said  the  man  in  a  low  tone. 

"Come  inside,"  and  Browning  motioned  to  the  chair 
beside  his  desk.  Only  persons  whose  business  was  of  im 
portance  were  asked  inside;  Browning,  like  most  busy 
Westerners,  found  he  could  do  more  business  and  do  it  faster 
if  he  did  not  ask  his  visitors  to  sit  down.  All  day  long  he 
turned  his  chair  to  and  fro,  from  the  'phone  and  his  stenog 
rapher  on  the  left  to  the  railing  and  his  callers  on  the  right, 
despatching  an  amazing  amount  of  business.  Now  and  then 
the  matter  was  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  asking 
the  visitor  in. 

[16] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

As  Norberg  sat  down,  hat  in  hand,  Browning  asked 
quietly, — 

"  What  is  the  complaint  ?  " 

"No  complaint  in  particular;  men  satisfied,  but  the 
leaders  are  stirring  them  up  and  they  are  getting  restless; 
talking  an  advance  of  three  cents  an  hour  for  single  horse, 
five  for  teams,  and  seven  for  three  horses  — 

"They  're  getting  good  wages  now." 

"  I  know  it;  but  the  agitators  are  busy." 

"The  company  will  make  no  advance." 

"The  leaders  know  that,"  said  Norberg,  dryly. 

"  Then  what  are  they  stirring  up  trouble  now  for  ?  " 

"  For  what  there  is  in  it." 

"  Who  control  the  situation  ?  " 

"  Fanning,  Scotty,  and  Ballard." 

"I  think  we  can  take  care  of  Fanning  and  Scotty  at  the 
Yards.  How  about  Ballard  ?  " 

"Hardest  nut  of  the  three." 

"  Can't  we  find  a  place  for  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  think  so.  He  's  pretty  close-mouthed,  and  it 's 
hard  to  tell  what  he  wants.  He  says  he  stands  for  the  men, 
and  won't  listen  to  reason." 

"  Is  n't  he  one  of  the  Union  Company's  men  ?  " 

"Yes/ 

"Well;  take  this  note  to  Littlejohn,  vice-president  of  the 
Union, —  you  know  him, —  and  if  he  wishes  you  to  talk  with 
Ballard  you  do  exactly  as  he  tells  you.  If  you  and  Littlejohn 
fail  to  bring  the  man  around,  report  to  me.  Don't  let  the 
trouble  spread  at  the  present  time ;  nip  it  now.  Say  nothing 
to  Fanning  and  Scotty  unless  I  tell  you  to. —  That 's  all." 

Norberg  had  hardly  disappeared  when  Allan  Borlan, 
[17] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

junior  member  of  Borlan  Brothers,  another  of  the  great  com 
panies  at  the  Yards,  called  up  to  say  he  would  be  over  in  a 
moment  to  see  Browning  on  important  business.  Browning 
knew  it  was  about  the  trouble  brewing  among  the  teamsters, 
and  turned  to  some  telegrams  on  his  desk  with  something 
like  a  sigh.  He  knew  that  Allan,  with  his  absurdly  strict 
notions,  would  be  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  a  quick  adjust 
ment  along  easy  lines.  Youngest  of  the  three  brothers, 
Allan  was  not  yet  sufficiently  accustomed  —  hardened,  some 
might  say  —  to  modern  ways  of  adjusting  labor  difficulties. 
More  than  once  he  had  made  trouble  for  his  brothers  and  the 
other  packers  by  untimely  objections  to  the  methods  proposed. 
When  he  came  hurrying  in  a  few  moments  later,  Browning 
looked  up  and  said  quietly: 

"  Well,  Allan,  what 's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  about  this  trouble  with  the 
teamsters,  Mr.  Browning  ?  " 

Allan  was  so  young  in  the  Yards,  being  only  a  few  years 
out  of  college,  that  he  still  "  Mistered  "  the  older  men  in  the 
business.  For  that  and  other  characteristics,  his  sincerity, 
frankness,  and  directness  among  them,  he  was  well  liked, 
even  if  he  did  interfere  inopportunely  now  and  then. 

"  Settle  it  in  some  way,"  answered  Browning  in  the  same 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

"  But  how  ?  "     The  question  was  insistent. 

"That  I  cannot  tell  yet.  We  must  wait  developments. 
It  may  amount  to  nothing." 

"I  think  it  will;  our  foreman  tells  me  Fanning,  Scotty, 
and  Ballard  mean  business  ?  " 

"I  guess  they  do;  in  more  senses  than  one,"  said  Brown 
ing,  dryly. 

[18] 


1 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

"  And  I  hear  Norberg  has  been  to  see  them." 
"Possibly;  it  is  his  business  to  keep  posted  on  what  is 
going  on  among  the  men." 

"  Well ;  I  want  to  say,  Mr.  Browning,  that  I  am  opposed  to 
any  dealings  with  these  men.  There  has  been  altogether 
too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  won't  stand  for  it  any 
longer.  If  we  must  have  a  strike,  let  us  fight  it  out  fair  and 
square.  The  men  will  soon  find  out  the  sort  of  leaders  they 
have,  and  we  will  all  gain  in  the  end."  Allan  was  very  much 
in  earnest. 

"  A  strike  of  the  teamsters  would  be  rather  bad  just  now." 
"It  might  as  well  come  one  time  as  another." 
"  Yes ;   but  we  do  not  want  trouble  now.     Stocks  are  too 
low  and  trade  is  too  good.     Possibly  in  August  — 

"That  may  all  be.  We  do  not  want  trouble  any  more 
than  your  people;  but  I  won't  stand  for  buying  these  men 
off."  There  was  such  a  ring  of  dogged  firmness  in  young 
Borlan's  voice  that  Browning  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
said  wearily: 

"  Well,  Allan,  it  is  a  matter  I  do  not  control  — 
"Then  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.   Ganton,"  interrupted 
Allan,  impulsively. 

"  He  is  over  there,"  and  Browning  pointed  toward  the 
private  office.  Paying  no  attention  to  the  small  boy,  as  he 
vainly  tried  to  stop  him,  Allan  Borlan  stood  for  a  second  in 
the  gateway,  before  he  said : 

"  Mr.  Ganton,  may  I  speak  with  you  ?  " 

John  Ganton  was  still  seated  with  his  face  toward  the 

window,  his  hand  resting  on  the  papers  on  his  desk,  but  he 

was  thinking  of  something  besides  his  last  month's  business 

and  his  competitors  across  the  way.     He  swung  around,  but 

[19] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

the  look  of  impatience  passed  quickly  away  when  he  recog 
nized  his  unceremonious  visitor;  young  Borlan  was  one  of 
the  few  men  doing  business  at  the  Yards  he  liked.  He  did  not 
know  why:  perhaps  Allan's  indefatigable  industry,  or  his 
exceptional  business  ability,  or  his  frankness,  or,  —  who 
knows  ?  —  his  scrupulous  honesty  in  all  dealings. 

"  Why,  Allan,  sit  down.  It 's  a  hot  day  for  June."  The 
old  man  mopped  his  forehead  and  threw  his  waistcoat  back. 

"  It  is  hot,  and  we  feel  it,  coming  so  early  in  the  season. 
The  men  in  the  pens  are  suffering  — 

"  So  are  the  cattle.     McCarthy  reported  many  down  —  " 

"  I  want  to  see  you  a  moment  about  this  stir  among  the 
teamsters." 

"Well  ?  "  John  Ganton's  tone  was  abrupt  and  harsh,  for 
he  knew  the  young  man's  peculiar  notions. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"Handle  it." 

"  But  how  ?  "  insisted  the  young  man  earnestly. 

"  The  best  way  we  can." 

"  Does  that  mean,  Mr.  Ganton,  we  are  to  buy  off  the 
leaders  ?  " 

"  If  that  is  the  cheapest  way." 

"  It  is  n't  the  cheapest  way  in  the  long  run,  and  I  am 
opposed  to  having  any  dealings  with  Fanning,  Scotty,  and 
Ballard.  Our  company  will  fight  it  out,  if  it  takes  all  sum 
mer." 

"  Have  you  talked  with  your  brothers  ?  "  The  question 
came  dryly. 

"No;  but  I  made  up  my  mind  the  last  time  we  put  up 
money  that  we  would  never  do  it  again,  and  they  know  how 
I  feel." 

[20] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

"Better  leave  the  settlement  of  these  matters  to  them. 
They  have  been  in  the  business  longer  and  know  the  Yards." 

"That  may  be,  but  I  am  opposed  to  buying  off  these 
rascals,  and  we  will  not  contribute  another  penny  for  that 
purpose.  What  good  does  it  do,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  In  three 
months  they  are  after  us  again." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  dollars  and  cents.  Just  now  it  is 
cheaper  to  pay  them  than  have  a  strike ;  a  little  later  a  strike 
may  be  a  good  thing.  We  shall  go  into  August  with  large 
stocks  and  low  prices.  A  strike  then  would  clean  us  all  up 
in  good  shape.  Yes;  a  strike  would  not  be  a  bad  thing  in 
August;  but  not  now, —  not  now,  my  boy." 

"And  so  you  will  pay  this  ring  of  rascals  tribute,"  ex 
claimed  Borlan,  hotly. 

"  They  say  all  money  contributed  is  used  for  union  pur 
poses  —  ". 

"  But  you  know  better,  Mr.  Ganton.  You  know  that  they 
divide  it  up  among  themselves,  and  I  don't  see  how  you  can 
permit  it.  You  are  the  head  of  this  great  industry, —  all 
the  others  follow  in  your  footsteps,  whether  they  want  to  or 
not, —  and  you  can  put  a  stop  to  anything  you  don't  like. 
Let  us  deal  with  our  men  direct,  and  kick  those  three  agitators 
out  of  the  Yards." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  Borlan  that  appealed 
to  Ganton;  his  vanity,  too,  was  flattered  by  being  acknowl 
edged  the  head  of  the  great  slaughtering  and  packing  industry ; 
and  he  answered  kindly: 

"You  are  young  in  the  business,  Allan,  and  have  many 
things  to  learn ;  you  'd  better  let  your  brothers  handle  these 
labor  troubles ;  they  've  been  through  the  mill  and  are  hard 
ened.  You  say, '  Deal  directly  with  the  men.'  That  cannot 


Ganton  &  Co. 

be  done ;  can  you  talk  with  every  one  of  the  thousands  of  men 
in  your  employ?  No.  Then  you  must  deal  through  your 
representatives;  can  each  of  your  men  talk  with  your  rep 
resentatives  ?  No ;  hundreds  cannot  even  speak  English. 
Then  the  men  must  act  through  their  representatives.  You 
choose  yours;  they  choose  theirs.  If  their  representatives 
happen  to  be  rascals,  that  is  not  your  fault,  but  theirs;  if  their 
representatives  sell  them  out,  that  is  their  affair,  not  yours; 
if  their  leaders  say  they  would  rather  have  so  many  thousands 
of  dollars  in  hand  —  for  the  good  of  the  union,  of  course  — 
rather  than  strike  for  shorter  hours  or  better  pay,  that  is 
their  affair,  and  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents  to  us  whether 
we  pay  it.  It  is  not  for  us  to  dictate  to  the  regularly  chosen 
leaders  of  the  men  what  their  demands  shall  be.  They  may 
use  the  money  we  give  them  for  the  union,  for  the  good  of  the 
cause,  and  they  may  not, —  that  is  none  of  our  business.  If 
the  men  select  dishonest  leaders,  then  the  men  must  suffer  the 
consequences.  Shall  we  insist  that  the  men  strike  and 
everybody  suffer,  when  their  committee  tells  us  a  contribution 
of  ten  or  twenty  thousand  dollars  to  the  union  will  tide 
matters  over  and  satisfy  every  one  ?  What  right  have  you 
or  I  to  assume  these  men  are  dishonest  ?  " 

He  looked  at  the  young  man  with  a  quizzical  look  in  his 
keen  gray  eyes. 

"  That  's  all  very  plausible,  Mr.  Ganton,  but  you  know 
the  men  are  deceived  by  those  rascals.  If  we  turn  them 
down  once,  they  will  soon  lose  their  influence." 

"  To  make  room  for  others  of  the  same  breed  ?  The  men 
do  not  choose  their  leaders  any  more  than  a  political  party 
chooses  the  men  who  make  up  the  'machine.'  They  choose 
themselves.  The  leaders  come  to  the  top  like  corks,  and 

[22] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

you  can't  keep  them  down.  When  one  disappears  another 
like  him  takes  his  place.  It  is  not  a  question  of  individual 
honesty.  The  labor  movement  demands  leaders  of  a  certain 
calibre,  and  it  gets  them,  just  as  every  organization  and  every 
business  is  managed  by  the  men  who  are  fitted  to  run  it.  If 
men  get  in  control  who  are  too  strict  and  too  honest  for  the 
business,  they  make  a  failure  of  it  and  have  to  get  out. 
There  's  no  use  preaching  to  those  you  do  business  with." 

Allan  Borlan  was  one  of  the  few  men  to  whom  John  Gan- 
ton  talked  at  any  great  length;  it  seemed  to  amuse  him 
to  play  upon  the  young  man's  susceptibilities,  to  speak  what 
he  considered  plain  truths  in  a  harsh,  almost  brutal  manner. 

"That  may  be  all  very  true,"  was  the  dogged  response, 
"  but  I  can't  see  it  helps  matters  any  for  us  to  deal  with  these 
fellows  on  their  level.  All  I  can  say  is,  we  won't  give  them 
a  cent." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"Fight." 

"  Why  not  give  the  men  what  they  demand  ?  Would  n't 
that  be  more  phi-lanthropic,  according?to  your  high  notions  ?  " 
John  Ganton  grew  sarcastic. 

"No,  for  the  men  themselves  are  making  no  demands; 
they  know  conditions  are  not  ripe,  and  they  are  satisfied.  It 's 
their  leaders  who  are  stirring  up  the  trouble.  I  've  talked 
with  our  men,  and  know  they  are  against  a  strike." 

"  But  if  called  they  will  go  out  like  a  lot  of  sheep." 

"  That  may  be,  but  let  us  fight  it  out,  once  for  all." 

"Better  talk  with  your  brothers." 

"No;  my  mind  is  made  up.  We  will  not  contribute  a 
cent  to  these  fellows ;  we  '11  shut  down  first.  I  came  over  to 
appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Ganton,  to  join  us  in  that  stand." 

[23] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"I  will  consider  the  matter."  Ganton  swung  about  and 
once  more  gazed  out  of  the  window,  his  right  hand  impa 
tiently  fingering  the  papers  on  his  desk.  Allan  Borlan  knew 
the  interview  was  at  an  end;  as  he  passed  out  he  said  to 
Browning,  "  I  hope  you  people  will  stand  with  us  if  there  is 
to  be  a  fight." 

"  What  does  the  old  man  say  ?  "  asked  Browning,  looking 
up  from  his  desk. 

"That  he  will  think  the  matter  over." 

"  Oh ! "  was  Browning's  only  reply ;  a  moment  later  he  was 
called  into  the  private  office. 

"Tell  Norberg,"  John  Ganton  said  sharply,  "we  want  no 
strike  until  August ;  he  must  stave  it  off  until  then.  The 
Borlans  will  not  contribute;  the  rest  of  us  must  put  up  the 
money.  If  their  men  are  called  out,  it  does  not  concern  us. 
The  matter  will  require  careful  handling,  Browning." 

"  They  always  have  acted  with  us.  What 's  the  matter  ?  " 
Browning's  tone  expressed  his  surprise. 

"The  young  man  has  kicked  over  the  traces  and  must 
take  his  medicine,"  was  the  dry  response. 

"Too  bad;   he  's  a  fine  fellow." 

"The  best  of  the  lot,  and  bound  to  make  his  mark.  I 
wish  my  own  boy  had  his  industry  and  —  I  wonder  where 
Will  is;  call  up  the  Club  and  see  if  he  has  been  there  this 
afternoon.  Ask  for  Perkins,  and  tell  him  I  wish  to  know; 
otherwise  he  will  lie  like  a  thief." 

He  did  not  say  so,  but  Browning  knew  it  would  be  idle  to 
call  Perkins.  Often  as  he  had  done  so,  he  always  got  the  same 
answer;  Perkins  liked  the  son  more  than  he  feared  the  father. 

At  that  moment  Will  Ganton  was  playing  bridge  in  one 

[24] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

of  the  card-rooms  of  the  Club,  and  was  a  winner  to  the  extent 
of  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred  dollars. 

"  It  's  too  beastly  hot  to  play,"  exclaimed  George  Axford 
throwing  down  his  cards. 

"  Not  if  you  are  winning,  old  boy,"  Will  replied  blandly. 

"Oh,  let's  quit." 

"  Just  as  you  say,  but  you  are  something  out  just 
now." 

"  We  '11  settle  and  take  it  out  of  you  another  time.  How 
do  \ve  stand  ? "  After  a  moment's  figuring,  Axford  made  a 
memorandum  on  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  stuck  in  his  waist 
coat  pocket,  saying,  "  All  right ;  send  you  a  check  to-morrow." 
He  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  card-table. 

The  other  loser,  Lawrence  Delaney,  hesitated  a  moment. 
"  If  I  send  you  a  check  to-morrow,  would  you  mind  holding 
it  until  next  day  before  depositing  ? " 

"That  's  all  right,  Larry."  Will  looked  up  surprised. 
"  What 's  the  matter  ?  Exchequer  low  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  am  carrying  some  customers  on  rather  slender 
margins,  and  my  account  is  pretty  heavily  overdrawn.  I 
don't  want  to  crowd  the  bank  too  hard." 

"  How  is  the  market,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Axford. 

"Dull;  nothing  doing." 

"  What 's  the  outlook  ?  " 

"Professional  market  for  next  thirty  days,  then  a  bull 
movement,"  replied  Delaney,  with  confidence. 

"What  makes  you  think  so ?  " 

"  Many  things, —  too  many  to  explain ;  but  there  is  sure 
to  be  an  upward  movement  soon,  barring  serious  complica 
tions." 

"  Such  as  ?  " 

[25] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"Wars,  crop  disasters,  strikes - 

"  Well,  there  is  not  much  danger  of  war,  and  the  crop 
reports  are  all  right  up  to  now,  but  strikes  may  come  any 
day." 

"  All  quiet  on  the  Potomac  so  far,  and  the  outlook  for  the 
next  sixty  days  is  good.  But  look  here,  Will,  is  there  any 
thing  in  this  rumor  of  trouble  at  the  Yards  ?"  Delaney  turned 
to  young  Ganton. 

"  I  guess  not,"  the  latter  answered  with  indifference,  sip 
ping  his  Scotch-and-soda.  "Always  something  brewing, 
you  know,  but  the  old  man  manages  to  keep  out  of  trouble 
when  he  wants  to." 

"  But  suppose  he  should  not  want  to  ?  "  insisted  Delaney. 
"  It  might  be  for  the  packers'  interest  to  let  the  men  go  out. 
A  man  not  a  thousand  miles  from  the  Yards  intimated  as 
much  to  me  this  morning." 

"  Can't  say  anything  about  that,  not  in  my  department ; 
but  I  would  n't  lie  awake  nights  worrying  about  it." 

"  Well,  if  there  are  no  labor  troubles  of  importance,  we 
shall  have  a  better  market  by  August." 

"  Thought  August  was  always  a  dull  month,  with  every 
one  out  of  Wall  Street,"  said  Axford. 

"  Ordinarily,  yes ;  but  conditions  this  year  are  peculiar. 
There  are  two  or  three  large  pools  that  must  realize  on  their 
holdings,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  they  have  chosen 
August  as  a  good  month  for  a  spurt." 

"  If  you  are  sure  of  what  you  say,  you  may  take  on  some 
stock  for  me,"  said  Axford. 

"And  a  thousand  shares  or  so  for  me,"  said  Ganton. 

Delaney  made  a  minute  of  the  orders,  and  before  he 
finished  his  losses  at  cards  were  more  than  covered  by  his 

[26] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

commissions.  It  was  not  often  Larry  Delaney  lost  at  cards, 
—  he  was  so  good  a  player  that  his  friends  often  called 
him  "the  Professional," — and  when  he  did  lose,  the  winners 
usually  became  his  customers  before  he  left  the  table.  He 
had  built  up  his  business  as  a  stock-broker  in  the  card-rooms 
of  the  Club,  and  his  customers  seldom  called  at  his  small 
office  on  La  Salle  Street.  Once,  indeed,  a  member  of  the 
house  committee  quietly  notified  him  the  Club  was  not  the 
place  to  transact  business.  This  made  him  a  little  more  care 
ful  in  the  reading-room  and  cafe,  but  in  the  card-rooms  he 
was  free  to  do  as  he  pleased.  He  gradually  built  up  a  profit 
able  business,  most  of  which  was  carried  on  his  books  under 
initials  and  numbers,  the  key  to  which  he  alone  knew.  This 
system  possessed  many  advantages  in  the  way  of  secrecy, 
but  it  possessed  also  some  disadvantages,  as,  for  instance, 
when  one  customer,  irritable  and  suspicious  from  losses, 
insisted  upon  looking  over  his  books  and  tracing  the  sales 
and  purchases  in  New  York,  it  was  found  impossible  to 
identify  each  transaction  with  sufficient  certainty  to  say 
whether  it  was  his  order  or  that  of  some  one  else  which  had 
been  executed.  With  great  patience  and  plausibility,  De 
laney  seemingly  made  everything  plain ;  but  to  the  customer, 
a  clear-headed  man  in  matters  of  accounts  and  book-keeping, 
there  seemed  to  be  great  possibilities  in  Delaney's  method. 
He  could  not  detect  anything  wrong  without  examining 
and  comparing  the  transactions  of  every  customer, —  a 
request  Delaney  courteously  but  firmly  refused, —  so  he  left 
the  office  muttering  "  bucket  shop  "  in  a  tone  audible  enough 
to  Larry,  though  he  pretended  he  did  not  hear. 

No  one  knew  much  about  Delaney.     He  came  from  New 
York,  and  was  acquainted  with  most  of  the  men  on  the  Street 

[27] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

there.  He  was  a  keen  card  player,  a  good  golfer,  a  good 
dancer,  a  popular  club  man,  and  all  in  all  a  useful  and  orna 
mental  member  of  society,  as  society  goes.  No  one  could 
discover  he  had  any  particular  social  antecedents  in  the  East, 
but  he  certainly  knew  a  good  many  New  Yorkers,  spoke 
with  indifference  of  Narragansett,  and  with  more  or  less 
familiarity  about  Newport.  To  the  men  he  was  useful  and 
companionable;  while  the  doubtful  character  of  his  status 
made  him  interesting  to  the  women,  who  liked  him  because 
they  more  than  half  believed  they  ought  not  to  receive  him. 
His  good  looks,  suavity,  accomplishments,  and  excellent 
manners  made  him  too  desirable  a  guest  for  a  hostess  strug 
gling  against  a  dearth  of  agreeable  men  to  neglect,  however 
discriminating  in  her  selection. 

As  the  young  men  came  out  of  the  elevator,  Perkins  in  a 
low  tone  said  to  Ganton,  "  There  was  an  inquiry  for  you, 
sir,  from  the  office."' 

"Who?" 

"  Mr.  Browning,  I  think,  sir." 

"What  did  you  tell  him?" 

"  That  you  were  not  here,  sir." 

"Quite  right,  Perkins.  When  I  'm  here,  I  'm  not  here; 
when  I  'm  not  here,  I  'm  often  here, —  keeps  Perkins  busy 
remembering  the  combination,  Larry,"  and  Will  Ganton 
laughed.  "  I  'm  afraid  some  day  you  '11  get  things  mixed, 
Perkins,  and  then  there  '11  be  the  old  Harry  to  pay;  I  half 
believe  the  governor  thinks  you  lie  to  him." 

"  There  was  another  call  for  you,  sir." 

"Who?" 

"  She  would  leave  no  name,  sir." 

"  She  —  she  —  what  '  she,'  Perkins  ?  " 
[28] 


The  Office  on  La  Salle  Street 

"I  think  it  was  the  same  lady  who  called  up  Saturday. 
She  left  a  telephone  number  and  wished  you  would  call  up 
when  you  came  in." 

Ganton  took  the  slip  of  paper  and  went  to  the  telephone- 
booth.  In  a  few  moments  he  came  out  hurriedly,  saying: 
"  Perkins,  call  a  cab. —  Larry,  I  am  going  to  the  Park  Club 
to  dine,  and  I  'm  asked  to  bring  you  along;  come  on." 

"Who  's  the  party  ?  "  asked  Delaney,  laconically. 

"Mrs.  Jack  and  her  sister." 

"  Who  's  the  chaperon  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Jack  can  take  care  of  herself." 

"  I  was  n't  worrying  about  Mrs.  Jack.  I  was  thinking 
about  my  weak,  defenceless  self  - 

"  Let  up,  old  man.  You  '11  meet  us  at  the  club  house  at 
six-thirty  sharp  ?  " 

"All  right;  it  goes." 


[29] 


CHAPTER   II 

GALA-NIGHT  AT  THE  PARK  CLUB 

IT  was  the  regular  gala-night  at  the  Park  Club.  Once 
a  week  a  table  d'hote  was  served,  and  an  orchestra  strug 
gled  heroically,  and  in  the  main  successfully,  to  drown 
conversation;  though  whenever  Mrs.  Jack  had  a  dinner 
party,  whether  large  or  small,  the  orchestra  grew  discouraged. 
The  evening  being  warm,  the  small  tables  were  arranged 
on  the  broad  veranda  facing  the  lake  instead  of  inside,  and 
every  seat  was  taken.  As  usual,  Mrs.  Jack  had  secured  her 
favorite  corner,  where  she  could  see  everything  and  be  seen 
by  all.  Too  short  to  be  handsome,  too  clever  to  be  homely, 
she  was  of  that  type  —  common  in  one  sense,  uncommon  in 
another  —  which  somehow  ties  the  world  and  half-world 
together,  lingering  wistfully  on  the  borders  of  the  forbidden 
and  not  quite  achieving  the  promised  land,  which  makes 
society  either  run,  fight,  or  follow  with  reluctant  admiration. 
In  short,  Mrs.  Jack  was  one  of  those  interesting  creatures 
who  eclipse  their  husbands  after  securing  names  and  fortunes, 
relegating  them  to  that  sub-social  obscurity  for  which  Nature 
in  her  wisdom  intended  the  husbands  of  such  women.  Mrs. 
Jack  appropriated  all  that  was  serviceable  in  John  Brown 
Wilton's  good,  old-fashioned,  anti-slavery  name,  dropped 
the  'Brown'  as  impossible,  rechristened  herself  Mrs.  Jack, 
with  occasional  reference  to  the  Wilton,  and  made  her  own 
whirlpool  in  society.  Before  marriage  she  was  one  of  the 
daughters  of  Jem  Keating,  of  doubtful  fame;  after  her 

[30] 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

marriage  to  Wilton,  a  thoroughly  good  fellow  with  family  and 
money,  she  cut  loose  from  all  former  connections  and  made 
her  own  way,  carrying  along  her  sister  May,  whose  beauty 
and  wit  made  her  an  attractive  and  attracting  companion. 
No  one  could  really  say  anything  against  Mrs.  Jack,  and 
therefore  every  woman  tried ;  she  was  the  most  talked  about 
woman  in  the  city,  and  that  amused  her.  Once  when  her 
husband  protested  against  so  much  notoriety,  she  had  said : 

"  Before  I  married  you,  you  were  a  nonentity;  now  every 
body  is  asking  who  you  are,"  and  Wilton  pondered  long  and 
earnestly  the  exact  nature  of  his  status,  concluding  at  length 
with  no  little  philosophy  that  if  a  man  cannot  achieve  fame 
for  himself  the  next  best  thing  socially  is  to  have  a  wife  who 
can  achieve  it  for  him.  He  therefore  accepted  the  situation, 
a  situation  in  which  if  he  was  occasionally  required  to 
perform  irksome  social  tasks,  there  were  long  periods  of 
inactivity  when  his  wife  apparently  forgot  his  very  existence. 
The  night  in  question  was  in  one  of  those  periods.  He  had 
not  been  invited  to  dine  at  the  Park  Club  with  Mrs.  Jack; 
hence,  like  the  well-bred  man  he  was,  he  was  not  there,  but  went 
with  his  older  sister  to  the  Ruskin  Settlement  in  the  purlieus 
to  hear  a  paper  on  "  Social  Strata, "  by  Miss  Higbee  Hig- 
ginson  of  Boston,  the  net  result  of  which  to  him  was  a  con 
fused  notion  that  the  stratum  he  occupied  bore  to  the 
oppressed  masses  about  the  same  relation  that  a  comfortable 
mattress  bears  to  the  creaking  springs  beneath,  with  his  wife's 
stratum  spread  over  him  like  a  wet  blanket. 

Miss  Higbee  Higginson  seemed  to  know  what  she  was 
talking  about  in  her  high,  shrill  voice.  She  was  not  at  all 
satisfied  with  the  existing  arrangement  of  social  strata, — 
neither  was  he  for  that  matter.  Nothing  but  a  social 

[31] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

upheaval  little  short  of  a  revolution  would  satisfy  her  notions; 
he  was  rather  inclined  to  agree  with  her.  He,  too,  could 
think  of  a  stratum  or  two  that  would  be  all  the  better  for  a 
"society-quake," — the  term  was  hers,  and  it  pleased  her 
hearers  every  time  she  used  it,  so  she  used  it  frequently. 

Miss  Higbee  was  one  of  the  bright  and  shining  lights 
of  the  Ruskin  Settlement.  Her  lectures  were  eagerly  listened 
to  by  the  radical  element  of  the  quarter;  without  knowing  it 
she  was  the  arch-priestess  of  all  the  socialism  and  much  of 
the  anarchism  that  centred  about  the  settlement;  when  she 
talked  of  "Social  Strata,"  the  prosperous  and  well-to-do 
were  left  without  a  shred  of  an  excuse  for  living  —  and 
with  hardly  an  excuse  for  dying,  since  all  hope  of  salvation 
was  denied  them  in  explicit  terms.  There  were  points 
John  Brown  Wilton  did  not  applaud,  but  he  did  enjoy  the 
digs  at  the  members  of  the  "Smart  Set,"  "who  spend  their 
useless  lives  in  idle  revelry,  who  exploit  the  lives  of  others 
that  they  may  drink  from  golden  chalices  the  blood  of  the 
downtrodden  and  the  oppressed—  "Hot  stuff!"  some  one 
shouted,  and  there  was  a  burst  of  applause  in  which  he 
joined  so  vigorously  that  his  sister,  scandalized,  nudged  him 
to  keep  quiet. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Jack  was  dealing  with  conditions  rather 
than  theories,  and  having  a  much  better  time. 

"Where's  Jack?"  asked  Will  Ganton  rather  inoppor 
tunely,  during  a  lull  in  the  conversation. 

"  Dear  me,  how  do  I  know  ? "  sighed  Mrs.  Jack. 

"What  a  question  on  so  convivial  an  occasion,"  pro 
tested  Delaney.  "Don't  you  know,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is 
quite  contrary  to  the  rules  nowadays  to  ask  after  a  charming 
woman's  husband  ?  " 

[32] 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

"  There,  I  hope  you  '11  remember  that ;  while  I  am  so 
domestic  I  don't  mind  it,  there  are  others  who  might,"  and 
Mrs.  Jack  glanced  significantly  in  the  direction  of  the 
adjoining  tables  as  if  there  were  women  present  who  would 
be  embarrassed  by  such  an  inquiry. 

"  Hope  you  '11  forgive  me,  but  it 's  been  so  long  since 
I've  seen  Jack.  Still  on  earth?"  queried  Will,  with  an 
appearance  of  deep  concern. 

"Very  much  on  earth,"  said  Mrs.  Jack. 

"  Of  the  earth,  earthy,  whereas  the  angel  who  sought  to 
work  his  social  redemption  by  marrying  him  still  wings  her 
way  in  the  cerulean  blue  accompanied  by  a  few  admiring 
satellites  like  ourselves. —  Here's  to  the  angel!"  Delaney 
raised  his  glass. 

"And  her  satellites,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Jack. 

"To  one,  at  least."  May  Keating  looked  at  Will  and 
smiled,  as  she  sipped  her  champagne. 

"Hold,  stop,  not  another  drop,"  Delaney  raised  his  hand 
in  exaggerated  protest.  "Why  am  I,  who  proposed  this 
toast,  who  framed  the  beautiful  sentiment  which  we  are 
about  to  drink,  whose  poetic  thought,  next  to  the  angel 
herself,  is  the  inspiration  of  the  moment, — why  am  I  cut  out 
by  the  lady  on  my  left  ?  That 's  what  I  want  to  know." 
Delaney's  mock  indignation  rose  to  great  heights. 

"Possibly  because  you  had  flown  so  far  in  the  cerulean 
you  were  out  of  sight;  possibly  because  you  were  not  fit  to 
fly  with  angels ;  possibly  —  "  But  Delaney  interrupted : 

"'Hold,  enough,'  as  somebody  said  to  Macduff.  I 
acknowledge  my  unworthiness  to  be  even  an  obscure  unit  in 
this  bright  constellation ;  but  when  it  comes  to  pluming  one's 
feathers  for  flight,  my  wings  are  of  a  spotless  and  snowy 

[33] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

whiteness  as  compared  with  the  ruffled  pinions  of  our 
mutual  friend,  William  Ganton. —  There,  Miss  May  Keating, 
what  do  you  think  — 

"I  can't  think  when  you  are  about,  Larry;  it 's  just  im 
possible,  you  know.  Between  you  and  that  snare-drum  thought 
is  out  of  the  question ;  one  can't  get  a  word  in  edgewise  —  " 

"But  when  your  words  do  come,  they  come  edgewise, 
don't  they,  Larry?"  laughed  Ganton.  "Here  's  to  you,  old 
boy,  plumage  or  no  plumage!  If  no  one  will  drink  your 
health,  I  will." 

"And  I,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Jack. 

"  Your  health  and  your  modesty,  which  is  so  conspicuous 
by  its  —  "  said  May  Keating. 

"Enough,"  interrupted  Delaney,  "many  a  good  toast  is 
spoiled  by  too  long  a  speech.  I  myself  will  drink  to  my 
health  and  my  modesty,  which,  as  the  discriminating  Miss 
Keating  says,  is  'so  conspicuous.'" 

"Now  that  we  have  disposed  of  the  angel  and  Mr.  De 
laney,  tell  me,  Mr.  Ganton,  what  are  you  going  to  do  this 
summer  ?  "  May  Keating  turned  to  Will,  leaving  her  sister 
and  Delaney  to  their  own  stray  thoughts. 

"  Can't  tell  —  work,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  you  really  work  out  there  at  the  Yards  ?  " 

"Some  of  the  time.     Come  out  and  see." 

"I  should  like  to;  I've  never  been,  and  here  I  have 
lived  in  Chicago  all  my  life.  But  that  is  always  the  way; 
every  stranger  coming  to  Chicago  visits  the  Stock  Yards, — 
to  me  it  has  always  seemed  an  awful  place." 

"You  are  right,  it  is  an  awful  place.  There  are  days 
when  I  just  can't  stand  it.  To-day  it  was  particularly 
awful,"  said  Will,  soberly. 

[34] 


It  was  the  regular  gala-night  at  the  Park  Club,  and,  as  usual,  Mrs. 
Jack  had  secured  her  favorite  corner. 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

"Why  are  n't  you  in  the  office  down  town  ?  " 

"That  is  not  father's  idea;  he  began  in  a  slaughter 
house  and  he  thinks  I  should.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  start 
in  as  a  boy  killing  cattle,  and  it 's  another  thing  to  let  a  fellow 
play  in  the  fresh  air  until  he  is  grown  and  then  throw  him 
into  the  pens  and  rendering  tanks." 

"But  you  won't  have  to  work  at  the  Yards  long,  will 
you  ? "  May  Keating  sat  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the 
table,  her  chin  in  one  hand  and  her  delightfully  modulated 
voice  expressing  possibly  more  sympathy  than  she  really 
felt.  To  Will  Ganton  she  seemed  unusually  attractive  that 
night,  so  different  from  her  vivacious  sister,  so  tall  and 
graceful,  so  perfectly  self-possessed.  Envious  tongues  called 
her  clever  and  scheming, —  she  was  certainly  clever,  far  too 
clever  for  Will  Ganton. 

"I  cannot  tell,"  he  replied  thoughtfully;  "it  all  depends. 
I  guess  I  am  not  shortening  my  period  of  probation  by 
jumping  my  job  as  I  did  to-day." 

"  Does  your  father  know  ?  " 

"  Know  ? —  gad,  he  knows  everything  that  goes  on  at  the 
Yards;  nothing  escapes  him.  I  '11  bet  I  had  not  been  gone 
from  the  Yards  two  hours  before  he  knew  it."  Will's  tone 
expressed  the  admiration  he  felt  for  his  father's  sagacity, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  certain  amount  of  apprehension. 

"Who  would  tell  on  you  ?  " 

"No  one, —  that  is,  not  willingly;  but  no  one  dares  lie 
to  him,  except  Perkins  at  the  Club.  It  is  more  natural  to 
Perkins  to  lie;  it's  part  of  his  business." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  falling  out  with  your  father  some 
day  ?"  May  Keating's  voice  dropped  and  she  looked  keenly 
at  Ganton. 

[35] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"No;   he  must  have  some  one  to  step  into  his  shoes." 

"  But  you  have  a  brother  — 

"John?  Oh,  yes;  but  he  can  never  make  a  business 
man  out  of  John.  He  gave  up  all  notion  of  that  long  ago. 
John  is  a  dreamer." 

"I  heard  some  one  say  he  is  a  very  unusual  young  man." 

"  He  has  a  lot  of  queer  notions.  I  don't  understand  them, 
—  guess  no  one  else  does, —  but  he  is  a  mighty  good  fellow 
in  spite  of  his  notions." 

"  You  say  your  father  takes  no  interest  in  him  ?  " 

"  Does  n't  understand  him ;  no  one  does.  Father  is  down 
on  him  because  he  won't  go  into  the  Yards  and  take  hold  in 
the  business.  John  can't  stand  the  Yards;  it  makes  him 
sick.  He  went  there  once  when  he  was  a  little  fellow,  and  he 
did  n't  get  over  it  for  weeks.  Gad,  I  shall  never  forget  how 
pale  he  was  when  he  came  out  of  the  killing-room.  If  we 
had  not  pulled  him  into  the  air  he  would  have  toppled  over 
in  a  dead  faint.  Father  was  always  down  on  him  after  that." 

"  Has  he  no  taste  for  business  ?  " 

"None  at  all;  cares  for  nothing  but  books.  As  a  little 
fellow  he  used  to  say  he  would  like  to  write  a  book." 

"Perhaps  he  will." 

"Hope  so.  We  ought  to  have  an  author  in  the  family, 
and  there  is  no  use  trying  to  make  a  packer  of  him." 

"  Your  father,  then,  looks  to  you  to  take  his  place  at  the 
head  of  the  business  some  day  ?  " 

"That 's  his  idea,"  was  the  careless  response. 

"Then  why  don't  you  work  hard  for  a  few  years  and 
show  him  what  you  can  do  ?  "  Her  voice  had  a  practical 
ring. 

"  Easier  said  than  done.  I  would  rather  play  a  game  of 
[36] 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

bridge  in  a  cool  room  at  the  Club  on  a  hot  afternoon  than 
fume  in  the  stench  at  the  Yards;  I  would  rather  dine  here 
with  you  on  such  an  evening  as  this  than  pore  over  reports 
in  father's  stuffy  den  at  the  house." 

"  But  he  will  not  like  it." 

"  Not  the  first  time.  To-morrow  I  '11  make  up  by  doing 
the  work  of  two  men  —  oh,  you  need  not  smile.  I  can  do 
it,  and  he  knows  it.  That 's  all  that  holds  my  position  with 
Ganton  &  Co.  Whew !  let 's  not  talk  shop, —  makes  me 
hot  to  think  of  it, —  three  men  down  from  the  heat  to-day 
at  the  Yards.  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  summer  ?  " 
he  asked  abruptly. 

"Nothing." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Nowhere." 

Ganton  looked  up  surprised  at  the  tired  ring  in  the 
voice.  "  Why,  I  thought  you  and  John  and  Mrs.  Jack  were 
going  to  Europe." 

"That  is  given  up." 

"  Why,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  dozen  reasons.  John  won't  go,  Sally  has  changed 
her  mind,  and  I  —  well,  I  don't  count;  I  somehow  am  out 
of  the  spirit  of  going  myself." 

"  Mighty  glad  on  my  own  account  you  're  not  going.  I 
should  have  missed  you, —  town  gets  pretty  slow  in  summer." 

"And  we  furnish  the  vaudeville," — just  a  tinge  of  irony. 

"Better  than  that,  you  are  the  green  spot  in  a  hot  and 
dusty  desert,"  exclaimed  Will,  earnestly. 

"  Thanks  for  the  sentiment,  even  if  the  metaphor  is  a  bit 
worn." 

"We  can  dine  here  often,  though  I  like  almost  any  night 
[37] 


, 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

better  than  these  band  nights,  when  every  social  rowdy  in 
town  turns  out  and  tries  to  talk  the  music  down." 

"  Not  very  complimentary  to  Mrs.  Jack,  who  always  has 
her  table." 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  Mrs.  Jack, —  you  know  —  she  can 
do  anything  — "  Will  stammered  with  some  confusion. 

"  Rather  ambiguous.  What,  for  instance,  can  she  do, 
that  others  cannot  ?  "  The  tone  gave  point  to  the  question. 

"Oh,  she  can  do  as  she  pleases,  you  know." 

"But  are  we  'social  rowdies'  because  we  come  band 
nights  ?  "  persisted  the  young  woman,  enjoying  his  obvious 
embarrassment. 

"Why,  no, —  of  course  not, —  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Better  than  you  yourself,  perhaps,  for  without  knowing 
it  you  include  us  with  the  others  here."  Her  voice  became  a 
trifle  hard  as  she  continued :  "  And  why  are  we  not  social 
rowdies  ?  I  like  your  phrase ;  it  is  picturesque  and  highly 
descriptive.  Are  we  not  loafers  on  the  highways  of  society, 
noisy  idlers  and  lazy  tramps,  without  trade  or  useful  occupa 
tion  in  life?  If  not  social  rowdies,  at  least  vagrants;  I,  for 
one,  plead  guilty,  and  you  confess  you  have  shirked  work 
to-day.  Mr.  Delaney,  what  do  you  think  Mr.  Ganton  calls 
those  who  come  here  to  dine  on  band  nights  ?  '  Social  row 
dies.'  " 

"Oh,  you  wretch!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jack. 

"  Not  bad,  Will.  I  'm  one  of  the  worst,  and  there  are 
others."  Delaney  cast  his  eye  over  the  many  tables,  pictur 
esque  in  the  gathering  darkness  with  their  many  softly  shaded 
lights  and  the  chattering  parties  of  gay  diners.  ' '  Social 
rowdies,'  yes;  I  can  see  a  good  many,  but  surely  Mrs.  Jack 
and  Miss  Keating  — 

[38] 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

"Are  quite  as  worthless  as  the  rest,  as  every  one  in  the 
room  would  be  only  too  quick  to  admit."  Now  there  was  a 
ring  of  defiance  in  May  Keating's  voice,  which  did  not  escape 
Delaney's  keen  ear.  He  looked  at  the  brilliant  girl  with 
admiration;  he  knew  she  was  clever,  much  deeper  than  her 
sister,  and  he  knew  she  fully  appreciated  the  slender  tenure 
whereby  she  held  her  social  position;  but  he  did  not  know 
how  clearly  she  viewed  the  world  about  her,  and  the  exceed 
ing  accuracy  of  her  judgment  of  both  men  and  women  and  the 
motives  that  swayed  them.  Well  as  he  knew  the  elder 
sister,  Delaney  sometimes  felt  he  did  not  know  the  younger  at 
all;  she  seemed  entirely  indifferent  to  his  devotion  to  Mrs. 
Jack,  and  yet  he  felt  sure  his  attentions  had  been  the  subject 
of  many  a  sharp  discussion,  and  he  could  see  that  the  younger 
exercised  a  restraining  influence  of  which  there  was  never 
a  sign  in  public.  His  respect  for  May  Keating  increased 
accordingly;  in  fact,  he  was  a  little  in  awe  of  those  clear, 
penetrating  blue  eyes,  which  were  so  often  hard  and  cold,  and 
might  be  —  he  was  very  sure  —  relentless  and  cruel.  When 
they  first  met,  with  the  confidence  born  of  many  major  and 
more  minor  successes,  he  had  devoted  himself  to  her  for  sev 
eral  weeks,  only  to  find  that  as  an  admirer  he  simply  counted 
numerically;  he  could  not  get  beyond  the  friendship  which 
springs  up  casually  between  two  clever  and  congenial  people, 
and  even  this  friendship  was  chastened  by  a  feeling  of  dis 
trust,  slight  on  his  side,  possibly  more  pronounced  on  hers. 
He  doubted  the  genuineness  of  her  feelings,  she  doubted  the 
honesty  and  strength  of  his  character;  but  he  found  her  a 
most  delightful  companion,  she  found  him  a  most  agreeable 
acquaintance. 

At  the  third  table  from  the  corner,  Mrs.  Northwood  King 
[39] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

was  saying  to  Mrs.  Range  Salter :  "  This  is  the  second  time 
Will  Ganton  has  dined  with  May  Keating  and  Mrs.  Jack 
within  three  weeks.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"And  they  were  here  last  Saturday  afternoon  for  tea." 
Mrs.  Range  Salter  eyed  the  two  in  question  as  if  they  were 
offenders  whose  guilt  was  only  too  clearly  established.  Mrs. 
Northwood  King  had  a  marriageable  sister,  and  Mrs.  Range 
Salter  a  daughter  who  would  be  marriageable  in  another 
season. 

"Mrs.  Jack  is  doing  all  she  can  to  help  that  along,"  said 
Mrs.  Northwood  King,  with  some  tartness.  "  I  can't  under 
stand  how  some  women  will  go  to  such  lengths." 

"Nor  I,  but  May  Keating  won't  get  Will  Ganton." 
Mrs.  Range  Salter  spoke  significantly. 

"  How  do  you  know  she  won't  ?  That  's  what  they  used 
to  say  about  Sally  Keating  and  John  Wilton ;  but  she  married 
him  just  the  same.  May  is  cleverer  than  her  sister  ever 
thought  of  being." 

"  There  was  no  John  Ganton  to  look  out  for  Wilton,  and 
that  makes  a  world  of  difference."  Mrs.  Range  Salter 
nodded  her  head  knowingly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  Will's  father  does  not  approve  of 
May  Keating?"  asked  Mrs.  Northwood  King,  agreeably 
surprised. 

"All  I  know  is,  that  Salter  heard  him  say,  speaking  of 
John  Wilton,  that  if  a  son  of  his  married  a  daughter  of  Jem 
Keating  he  would  cut  him  off  without  a  cent." 

"That  would  settle  it,  for  May  Keating  is  not  marrying 
any  penniless  young  man."  Mrs.  Northwood  King  felt 
relieved.  The  next  day  Will  Ganton  received  two  notes. 
One  read: — 

[40] 


Gala-Night  at  the  Park  Club 

DEAR  MR.  GANTON: 

Will  you  dine  with  us  at  the  Park  Club  Saturday  evening 
at  seven  ?  There  will  be  only  my  sister  and  Northwood. 
Do  not  bother  to  write,  but  telephone  reply. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

VIRGINIA  KING. 

The  other  was  very  similar: — 

DEAR  MR.  GANTON  : 

Will  you  dine  with  us  at  the  Park  Club  Saturday  evening 
at  seven  ?  As  my  daughter  does  not  come  out  until  next 
season,  we  shall  be  quite  by  ourselves.  I  do  hope  you  have 
no  other  engagement.  Very  sincerely, 

HARRIET  SALTER. 

Will  groaned  as  he  put  the  notes  in  his  pocket,  hoping 
something  would  turn  up  so  he  could  truthfully  say  he  had 
an  engagement.  He  finally  accepted  the  Salter  invitation, 
not  that  he  liked  the  Salters  better  than  the  Kings,  but  Salter 
was  one  of  the  principal  owners  of  the  Union  Company,  and 
it  fell  in  with  his  father's  peculiar  policies  to  cultivate  in 
certain  directions  competitors  he  fought  unscrupulously  in 
others.  Wrill  felt  that  the  dinner  Saturday  night  would  figure 
for  him  as  a  credit  mark  in  an  account  where  the  debit  balance 
was  already  too  large. 


[41] 


CHAPTER   III 

NOTORIETY 

LONG  after  they  were  home  that  night  Mrs.  Jack,  moved 
by  some  secret  impulse,  stole  into  her  sister's  room, 
expecting  to  find  her  in  bed  and  asleep,  and  yet  feel 
ing  that  she  might  not  be.  May  Keating  was  seated  by  the 
open  window  apparently  lost  in  contemplating  the  darkened 
windows  of  the  houses  opposite,  and  in  listening  to  the  rumble 
of  a  belated  cab  clattering  over  the  pavement. 

"  Why,  May,  why  are  n't  you  in  bed  ?  " 

"  And  you  ?  "  was  the  quiet  response. 

"  I  ? —  why,  I  could  not  sleep  —  so  — 

"  Neither  could  I,  so  I  am  looking  at  those  houses  opposite, 
and  wondering  whether  behind  each  dark  front  there  are 
pleasant  dreams,  or  —  nightmares." 

"How  silly!     Go  to  bed." 

"I  am  not  sleepy." 

"  You  ought  to  be.     What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  —  dreams." 

"  Your  own,  May  ? "  Mrs.  Jack's  voice  was  tender  as 
she  sat  down  beside  her  sister  and  put  an  arm  about  her 
neck. 

"Perhaps." 

"Tell  me  what  they  are,  dearie." 

"They  are  too  shadowy  to  take  shape  in  words." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  Will  Ganton  ?  " 

"Possibly,"  slowly,  "but  I  dare  say  I  was  thinking  more 
[42] 


Notoriety 

of  myself,  and  of  life,  and  of  the  utterly  idle  things  we  do 
from  day  to  day.     What  does  it  all  amount  to  ?     I  wish  —  " 

"  Do  you  like  him  ?  "  interrupted  her  sister. 

"  I  don't  know, —  how  can  I  tell  ?  There  are  things  about 
him  any  woman  would  like.  He  is  a  good  fellow,  yet  so 
weak  in  some  ways.  But  then,  what  difference  does  it  make 
whether  I  like  him  or  not  ? "  adding,  with  some  bitterness, 
"I  suppose  I  must  marry  him  if  I  can." 

"Why  do  you  talk  that  way,  May?  If  he  is  a  good- 
hearted  fellow  you  are  sure  to  love  him.  I  did  not  care  the 
snap  of  my  finger  for  Jack  when  I  married  him,  and  yet  we 
are  perfectly  happy." 

"Are  you?" 

"Of  course  we  are.  What  a  question!"  Mrs.  Jack 
spoke  irritably;  she  did  not  like  the  pointed  manner  in 
which  her  sister  spoke. 

But  May  continued  as  if  she  had  something  on  her  mind 
that  must  be  said:  "Do  you  realize,  Sally,  that  Harold  is 
getting  to  be  quite  a  boy;  that  he  will  soon  begin  to  notice 
more  than  you  care  to  have  him  see  ?  " 

"Nonsense;  Harold  is  just  a  baby." 

"With  eyes  and  ears  that  are  getting  keener  every  day. 
He  is  his  papa's  boy.  Are  you  willing  he  should  forget  you 
entirely  ?  " 

"Why  are  you  always  talking  about  Harold,  and  what 
I  do  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  annoyance.  "  I  am 
sure  I  am  a  devoted  mother;  every  one  says  so;  you  talk  as 
if  I  never  saw  the  child." 

"  It  is  not  enough,  Sally,  to  see  him  and  lavish  tenderness 
upon  him.  He  knows  you  love  him,  but  by-and-bye  he  will 
begin  to  see  that  you  do  not  love  Jack." 

[43] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"But  I  tell  you  I  do  love  Jack." 

"  Then  why  not  have  him  out  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  hopelessly  matter-of-fact.  You  know  that 
company  bores  him,  and  he  does  not  care  to  go  out." 

"  Because  he  knows  you  do  not  care  to  have  him,  because 
he  feels  you  would  much  rather  be  with  your  friends,  and 
because  he  loves  you  too  much  to  interfere  with  your  pleas 
ures.  Jack  is  a  good  fellow.  Men  like  him,  and  I  like  him 
better  than  some  of  the  men  you  have  about ;  I  believe  I  could 
have  married  Jack  and  been  happy." 

"  I  wish  to  gracious  you  had ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jack,  with 
a  mixture  of  irritability  and  amusement.  "Then  I  could 
have  sympathized  with  you  —  both." 

May  laughed,  but  quickly  becoming  serious,  she  continued 
quietly : 

"It  is  a  sore  subject,  and  you  must  forgive  me;  but, 
Sally,  can  you  not  manage  to  see  less  of  Larry  Delaney  ?  I 
am  sure,"  she  continued  rapidly,  pressing  her  sister's  hand, 
"  you  do  not  care  especially  for  him,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
wrong  in  it  all,  but  people  do  not  know  these  things.  They 
talk  and  they  look  at  us  so  when  we  are  out  that  sometimes 
it  seems  as  if  I  could  not  stand  it." 

During  the  moment's  silence  which  followed,  May  watched 
a  swarm  of  big,  filmy-winged  sand-flies  that  fluttered  about 
the  street  lamp  just  below  her  window  only  to  lose  their  lives 
in  seeking  the  shining  goal.  For  a  second  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  saw  all  society  in  the  swarm  of  insects,  and  all  the 
people  she  knew  flying  hither  and  thither  in  a  mad  struggle 
to  reach  some  glittering  end,  only  to  fail  and  fall  and  be 
trampled  and  crushed.  In  one  of  those  instantaneous  psy 
chological  processes  of  which  dreams  are  made,  the  panorama 

[44] 


Notoriety 

of  her  social  environment  spread  before  her,  the  flies  even 
began  to  take  familiar  shapes,  she  could  see  her  sister  and 
herself,  and  — 

Mrs.  Jack's  voice  was  cold  and  hard  as  she  said  deliber 
ately  : 

"  You  have  spcken  of  Lawrence  Delaney,  and  —  and  of 
my  friends  and  manner  of  living  before,  and  I  have  put  you 
off,  May,  with  some  sort  of  an  answer,  because  —  well, 
because  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  talk  seriously  of 
matters  which  might  never  concern  you ;  but  since  you  insist 
upon  trying  to  manage  my  affairs  and  make  of  me  a  sedate, 
respectable,  and  stupid  matron  in  society,  I  will  tell  you  why 
it  cannot  be  done,  on  your  account  even  more  than  my  own." 

May  listened  with  surprise.  She  had  never  heard  her 
sister  speak  in  this  hard,  matter-of-fact  way  before;  for  the 
time  being  the  frivolous  woman  of  the  world  seemed  to  have 
disappeared. 

"You  and  I  are  daughters  of  James  Keating,  familiarly 
known  as  '  old  Jem  Keating' ;  when  you  were  only  a  child  and 
I  a  little  girl,  our  father  failed  under  conditions  which  made 
him  an  outcast  in  the  business  world;  while  you  were  still 
in  school  I  was  struggling  to  gain  some  sort  of  foothold  in 
society.  As  the  daughter  of  old  Jem  Keating,  I  did  not  stand 
much  chance  in  competition  along  conventional  lines;  but 
I  had  to  win  a  husband  who  had  money.  That  I  did,  but 
as  Mrs.  John  Brown  Wilton  I  was  received  on  only  the  most 
formal  terms,  and  every  stupid  old  woman  in  the  city  looked 
down  upon  me. 

"  I  soon  saw  that  people  do  not  get  on  socially  by  crawling; 
that  the  thing  to  do  is  to  fight.  Society  is  jealous  of  but  one 
thing,  notoriety,  which  it  feverishly  seeks,  while  condemning 

[45] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

it  hypocritically.  The  short  cut  for  the  newcomer  to 
social  distinction  is  notoriety;  social  success  is  founded  on 
notoriety,  and  while  a  few  of  the  sedate  and  eminently  re 
spectable  maintain  their  positions  without  it,  even  they  do 
so  by  entertaining  and  catering  to  the  notorious.  The  women 
they  most  fear,  the  men  they  most  despise,  are  the  brilliant 
and  clever  guests  at  their  tables.  To  be  talked  about  is  a 
woman's  surest  passport,  and  the  more  vicious  the  gossip 
the  more  certain  her  place  at  the  right  hand  of  the  host.  Go 
where  you  will,  look  around  you,  ask  the  credentials  of  the  best 
known  women  in  the  room, —  not  the  figure-heads,  but  the 
real  leaders,  those  without  whom  any  social  function  would 
be  a  failure, —  and  you  will  find  the  credentials  of  each  are 
summed  up  in  the  word  '  notoriety,'  that  the  prestige  of  each 
is  based  upon  the  things  said  about  her,  and  that  men  like 
her  and  women  envy  her  for  the  gossip  and  scandal  attached 
to  her  name,  for  what  she  has  done,  or  is  whispered  to  have 
done. 

"The  clever  woman  is  the  one  who  manages  to  acquire 
a  large  amount  of  doubtful  reputation  at  a  very  small  expend 
iture  of  virtue.  It  has  been  my  ambition  to  be  at  the  head 
of  the  latter  class,  and  I  have  succeeded.  I  encourage  the 
suit  of  every  admirer,  but  I  draw  the  line  where  I  please. 
Jack  has  nothing  to  complain  of  except  that  I  do  not  take 
him,  like  a  lap-dog,  wherever  I  go;  but  he  is  bright  enough 
to  know  it  would  not  do;  what  chance  would  I,  Sally  Keating, 
stand  at  family  dinner  parties  with  Jack  at  my  side  ?  The 
invitations  would  be  few  and  long  between,  and  the  guests 
carefully  selected  with  reference  to  my  parentage  and  Jack's 
mesalliance.  But  as  '  Mrs.  Jack,'  with  all  the  agreeable  men 
in  town  at  my  beck  and  call,  I  am  in  demand  everywhere, 

[46] 


Notoriety 

for  every  good  matron  knows  only  too  well  that  I  can  'queer ' 
her  party  if  not  invited. 

'  I  like  the  fun  of  it  all,  I  enjoy  the  fight ;  to  win  out  against 
women  who  would  like  to  scratch  and  bite  even  while  they 
are  fawning  is  worth  while.  I  did  it  first  for  my  own  sake, 
now  I  am  doing  it  partly  for  yours.  When  you  are  married, 
May,  I  may  settle  down,  and  you  can  take  up  the  battle,  or, 
if  you  prefer,  you  can  avoid  notoriety  and  be  as  stupidly 
respectable  as  you  please, —  that  is  your  lookout, —  but  until 
you  are  married  '  sensation  '  is  our  winning  card." 

May  had  never  heard  her  sister  speak  so  long  about  any 
thing;  it  sounded  like  a  chapter  out  of  some  cynical  book, 
and  it  depressed  her  because  she  felt  there  was  more  or  less 
truth  in  it  all,  because  she  knew  that  most  of  the  women  and 
not  a  few  of  the  men  of  their  acquaintance  looked  upon  them 
to  a  certain  extent  as  two  brilliant  and  successful  adven 
turesses.  Again  and  again  had  this  reflection  hardened  her 
heart  and  made  her  feel  ready  to  fight  the  devil  with  fire. 
Often  in  company  she  would  look  about  and  feel  that  if  it 
were  not  for  her  sister's  money  and  dash  and  her  own 
beauty  and  intelligence,  their  pretended  friends  would  turn 
and  rend  them,  and  at  such  times  the  loneliness  of  her 
position  forced  itself  upon  her. 

Even  while  her  sister  was  speaking,  the  thought  of  Will 
Ganton  hovered  in  her  mind,  and  by  the  time  Mrs.  Jack  had 
finished,  it  seemed  as  if  fate  pointed  to  him  as  her  only  hope. 
She  did  not  love  him, —  that  was  certain ;  she  did  not  love  any 
one,  —  that  was  not  quite  so  certain,  for  two  summers 
before,  at  Newport,  she  had  met  —  but  that  was  merely  an 
episode  of  a  season,  and  the  fascination  she  felt  could  hardly 
be  called  love.  At  least  she  tried  to  persuade  herself  it  was 

[47] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

not  love,  but  then  there  are  so  many  kinds  of  love  and  so 
many  degrees  in  each  kind,  that  who  can  say  what  is  and 
what  is  not  love  ?  But  whether  love  or  not,  he  had  no  money, 
and  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  scant  prospects,  so  what 
was  the  use?  Why  should  she  think  it  was  more  than  a 
passing  fancy  on  his  part,  a  bit  of  midsummer  madness  on 
hers?  There  was  nothing  said,  nothing  done,  scarce  so 
much  as  merest  friends  betray  at  meeting,  and  yet  — 

Long  after  her  sister  had  left  the  room,  she  sat  there  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  and  thinking.  The  sand-flies  swarmed 
in  foolish  flight  about  the  light,  the  walk  was  strewn  with 
those  that  flew  too  near. 


[48] 


CHAPTER   IV 

JOHN  GANTON,  JR. 

JOHN  GANTON,  JR.,  had  fully  persuaded  himself  that 
he  had  no  taste  for  business.  He  looked  upon  the 
Yards  and  everything  connected  with  that  place  of  blood 
and  offal  with  positive  aversion.  Once  as  a  boy  he  had 
visited  the  slaughter-houses,  and  should  he  live  a  thousand 
years,  never,  he  was  certain,  would  the  scene  fade  from  his 
mind;  never  could  he  lose  the  impression  of  those  hot,  fetid, 
steam-filled  rooms,  those  horrible,  bubbling  vats,  those  end 
less  rows  of  reeking  carcasses  still  warm  from  life,  those  awful 
killing-rooms  flowing  with  blood,  where  his  clothes  were 
spattered  and  in  his  fright  he  hugged  one  of  the  great  iron 
pillars  lest  he,  too,  should  fall  into  the  clutches  of  the  merci 
less  men  who  laughed  as  they  slaughtered  the  great,  round- 
eyed  cattle  which  stumbled  from  the  darkness  of  the  runways 
into  the  light  to  be  killed !  For  years  after  he  could  not  be 
induced  to  eat  meat,  and  even  now  it  was  so  distasteful  to 
him  that  for  long  periods  he  went  without. 

What  could  he  do  in  such  a  business  as  that  ?  Nothing, 
his  father  had  said  before  he  let  him  go  to  the  university; 
nothing,  his  father  repeated  each  time  they  met;  nothing,  — 
that  seemed  only  too  plain.  His  brother  would  succeed  to 
the  business;  that  was  quite  well  understood ;  and  he  —  well, 
no  one  seemed  to  know  just  what  he  would  do,  except  his 
father  did  not  propose  that  he  should  become  a  "drivelling 
idiot  of  a  professor,"  as  he  put  it. 

[49] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

John  Ganton  the  elder  had  little  use  for  learned  or  literary 
men.  His  own  education  had  been  a  few  winter  months  of 
schooling  in  the  few  years  while  he  was  working  as  a  boy  on  a 
farm,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  refer  to  those  days  as  mostly 
wasted.  "  I  got  my  education  by  hard  knocks,"  he  frequently 
said,  adding,  with  a  philosophy  possibly  profounder  than  he 
realized,  "  Life  is  the  only  schoolmaster  worth  having :  a  boy 
never  knows  more  than  he  learns  himself."  Considering 
the  poverty  of  his  early  advantages,  it  was  amazing  how  he 
had  managed  to  learn  so  much,  not  only  about  his  own  busi 
ness,  but  about  things  in  general.  Like  many  a  self-made 
man,  he  was  so  resourceful,  so  strong  mentally,  that  profes 
sional  and  literary  men  were  subdued  and  awed  in  his  pres 
ence,  instinctively  yielding  before  his  aggressive  personality. 
Hence  his  contempt  for  them,  for  he  acknowledged  no  equals 
except  those  in  the  business  world  who  fought  him  instead  of 
cringing. 

When  it  was  suggested  that  John  should  become  a  lawyer, 
he  said  bluntly,  "  I  buy  my  pettifoggers  as  I  do  my  cattle ;  it 
don't  pay  to  raise  'em."  And  when  another  friend  spoke  of 
the  practice  of  medicine,  he  blurted  out,  "Don't  want  any 
smelling  pill-mixer  about  my  house."  It  was  his  boast  that 
he  had  never  called  a  doctor  for  himself  in  his  life.  "  A  dose 
of  castor  oil  now  and  then  is  all  the  medicine  any  man  needs," 
was  a  favorite  maxim;  and  he  used  to  say,  "The  drug  habit 
is  worse  'n  the  drink  habit,  and  of  all  fools  the  man  who 
dopes  himself  is  the  biggest." 

However,  neither  law  nor  medicine  had  the  slightest  at 
traction  for  the  son,  and  it  was  therefore  no  disappointment 
when  he  heard  that  his  father  had  vetoed  the  suggestions. 

His  four  years  of  university  life  were  drawing  to  a  close, 
[50] 


John  Ganton,  Jr. 

and  nothing  had  been  decided  for  the  future ;  though  he  was 
to  go  to  England  for  a  time.  Such  were  his  father's  orders 
in  the  letter  just  received, —  a  curt,  formal,  business-like  note 
dictated  to  "Steno.  No.  13,"  indorsed  "File  AA42721,"  and 
which  read  as  follows: 

JOHN  GANTON,  JR. 

Dear  Sir :  —  You  have  finished  your  college  course.  It  is 
my  desire  that  you  now  learn  something  of  business,  even 
though  you  adopt  some  other  career.  I  have  placed  with 
the  Illinois  Trust  Co.  bonds  which  will  yield  you  an  income 
of  $10,000.00  per  year;  this  leaves  you  free  to  choose  your 
own  occupation.  In  return,  however,  I  expect  you  to  spend 
one  year  in  the  service  of  Ganton  &  Co.;  if  at  the  end  of 
that  time  you  wish  to  leave  you  may  do  so.  You  will  report 
at  the  Liverpool  office  at  once,  sailing  on  the  "  Deutschland  " 
Thursday  of  next  week.  You  will  find  all  necessary  instruc 
tions  awaiting  you  on  the  other  side.  Call  at  the  New  York 
office  for  your  steamship  ticket,  and  all  necessary  funds. 

Enclosed  find  draft  for  $1,000.00  with  which  to  settle  any 
outstanding  bills  and  accounts.  Yours,  JOHN  GANTON. 

The  curt  and  formal  tone  of  this  letter  affected  him  pro 
foundly.  He  knew  the  disappointment  his  father  felt,  and 
what  it  cost  him  to  dictate  such  a  letter.  The  year  in  Liver 
pool  was  a  last  effort  to  win  him  over,  to  persuade  him  to 
take  an  active  interest  in  the  great  company;  the  provision 
for  the  income  was  a  confession  in  advance  that  the  effort 
would  prove  futile.  He  felt  grateful  for  this  assurance  of 
independence,  for  at  the  end  of  twelve  months  he  would  be 
free  to  do  as  he  pleased,  to  travel,  to  study,  to  write, —  any 
thing;  the  least  he  could  do  in  return  would  be  to  work  just 
the  best  he  could  during  the  year  ahead. 

No  one,  not  even  his  sons,  ever  thought  of  addressing 
[51] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

John  Ganton  on  other  than  formal  terms.  Affection  seemed 
to  have  died  out  of  old  John  Ganton's  nature,  or,  more 
accurately  speaking,  to  have  been  buried  beneath  a  weight 
of  other  and  more  important  considerations.  With  the 
rapid  expansion  of  his  business,  he  had  become  more  and 
more  absorbed,  until  he  thought  of  little  else  day  and  night. 
His  plain  and  unpretentious  wife  had  gradually  retired  into 
the  background,  until  she  was  merely  the  silent  manager  of 
his  matter-of-fact  household.  She  did  not  care  for  society, 
and  was  conspicuous  only  in  certain  charitable  enterprises 
which  she  did  not  dare  discuss  with  her  husband;  in  some 
of  the  poor  quarters  about  the  Yards  she  was  as  well  known 
to  the  women  and  children  as  he  was  to  the  men,  and  much 
more  favorably.  Yet  in  all  she  did  she  tried  hard  to  keep 
out  of  sight,  to  secure  for  others  the  credit  which  rightfully 
belonged  to  herself;  but,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  conceal 
her  good  deeds,  they  were  known,  and  she  was  respected  and 
loved  accordingly. 

In  the  early  days  of  John  Ganton's  career,  when  he  came 
home  and  told  her  with  pride  all  he  was  doing,  she,  too,  was 
interested.  But  soon  things  got  beyond  her  comprehension; 
so  long  as  he  had  a  little  shop  of  his  own  and  just  bought  and 
sold,  she  could  understand  it  all,  but  when  he  went  out  to  the 
Yards  and  laid  the  foundation  of  his  vast  business,  and 
figures  ran  up  into  the  thousands,  then  into  hundreds  of 
thousands,  then  into  millions,  she  could  not  grasp  it  all,  and 
gave  up  trying.  When  after  a  time  he  came  home  at  night 
with  bundles  of  letters  and  papers  and  pored  over  them 
until  exhaustion  followed,  creeping  into  bed  only  to  rise  with 
the  sun  and  hurry  off  to  the  Yards,  she  began  to  feel  that 


[52] 


John  Ganton,  Jr. 

something  had  gone  out  of  their  lives,  and  that  they  would 
never  again  be  just  the  same  to  each  other.  Many  a  time 
of  a  Sunday  evening,  when  there  was  a  lull  in  the  mad  rush 
of  business,  she  timidly  said :  "  John,  I  wish  we  had  n't  so 
much  money.  I  wish  we  were  back  over  the  little  shop, 
where  I  could  hear  you  working  all  day  long,  and  at  night 
we  talked  things  over  and  made  our  plans.  Oh,  John,  what 
good  is  all  this  money !  " 

The  first  time  he  smiled  and  patted  her  hand  gently  and 
tried  to  explain.  After  a  while  he  became  irritable  and  cut 
her  short  with  "Women  don't  understand  these  things,"  so 
she  ceased  to  ask.  Thereafter  he  went  his  way  more  and 
more  absorbed  in  business,  and  she  went  hers  very  quietly 
about  the  big  brownstone  house  where  they  lived,  and  among 
the  sick  and  the  poor,  in  hospital  and  hovel,  trying  to  do 
some  good  with  the  money  which  seemed  so  useless,  and  yet 
continued  to  flow  in  such  abundance  from  mysterious  and 
magic  sources.  She  did  not  dare  spend  it  on  herself,  that 
would  be  a  sin,  just  as  much  of  a  sin  as  if  the  money  were 
stolen ;  therefore  she  must  give  it  away,  and  the  task  seemed 
never-ending  and  hopeless  —  the  more  she  gave  the  more  she 
had.  Would  that  stream  of  gold  never  end  ?  she  often  asked 
herself;  would  it  end  only  with  the  ending  of  the  stream  of 
blood  at  the  Yards  ? 

It  had  not  occurred  to  John  Ganton  that  his  son  might 
wish  to  come  home,  or  that  the  mother  might  like  to  see  her 
boy  before  he  sailed  to  be  gone  a  year  or  longer.  So  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  there  was  no  necessity  for  John  to  come 
to  Chicago.  Full  instructions  could  be  mailed,  and  the 
sooner  the  boy  got  to  work  the  better, —  that  was  John 

[53] 


Ganton  &  Co 

Ganton's  notion.  Before  writing  he  called  Browning  into 
the  little  private  office. 

"  Who  's  in  charge  of  the  Liverpool  office  now  ?  " 

"McMasters;  King  is  in  London  on  special  work,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  yes;  h'm,  h'm."  Ganton  thought  a  moment. 
"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  McMasters  ?  " 

"A  hard  worker,  very  methodical." 

"  I  am  going  to  send  John  over  there  for  a  year." 

"  What ! — to  Liverpool  ?  "  Browning  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  to  Liverpool.  I  don't  see  anything  very  queer  in 
that,"  the  old  man  replied  impatiently. 

"  Is  that  the  place  for  him  ?  Will  he  get  on  there  ?  " 
Browning  could  not  help  asking  by  way  of  protest. 

"  No,  he  won't  get  on  there, —  he  would  n't  get  on  any 
where;  but  I  propose  to  give  him  his  chance.  Then  if  he 
wants  to  go  back  to  his  books  he  can,  for  all  I  care." 

Browning  was  on  the  point  of  asking  whether  John  would 
not  do  better  at  home,  in  the  Chicago  office,  but  he  could 
see  the  old  man's  mind  was  made  up,  and  he  kept  quiet. 

"Write  McMasters  to  put  him  at  work;  to  put  him 
through  the  mill.  We  '11  see  if  we  can't  get  some  of  these 
fool  notions  out  of  his  head.  Tell  McMasters  to  give  him 
so  much  to  do  that  he  won't  have  time  to  think  of  anything 
else.  To  think,  Browning,  a  boy  of  mine  should  want  to  be 
a  doddering  fool  of  a  professor,  or  something  of  that  kind! 
I  '11  give  him  his  chance,  and  then  if  he  don't  take  it  he  can 
go  to  the  devil,  for  all  I  care." 

The  old  man's  tone,  more  than  his  words,  betrayed  the 
disappointment  he  felt. 

[54] 


John  Ganton,  Jr. 

Young  John  would  have  liked  to  go  home;  he  had  much 
of  his  mother's  tenderness  of  heart.  Now  that  he  was  going 
away  for  a  year  without  seeing  her,  a  feeling  of  homesickness 
crept  over  him,  and  he  poured  out  his  heart  in  a  letter  he 
wrote  her,  a  letter  she  read  and  reread  through  the  tears  that 
filled  her  tired  eyes. 


[55] 


CHAPTER   V 

A  WIRELESS    MESSAGE 

ALTHOUGH  the  season  for  transatlantic  travel  was  at 
its  height  and  the  ship  had  been  sold  out  for  several 
weeks,  he  found  at  the  New  York  office  a  cabin  de 
luxe  reserved  for  him.  The  influence  of  Ganton  &  Co.  was 
such  that  at  the  eleventh  hour  any  one  connected  with  the 
great  concern  could  command  the  best  on  board;  not  that 
more  was  paid  for  the  favor;  as  a  matter  of  fact  nothing  at  all 
was  paid, —  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  freight,  the  power 
which  secured  passes,  concessions,  and  rebates  from  railroads 
and  steamship  companies. 

To  the  manager  of  the  New  York  office  young  John  Gan 
ton  said, 

"  I  should  much  prefer,  Mr.  Sanford,  a  cabin  down  below, 
so  I  could  travel  quite  unknown." 

Mr.  Sanford  smiled  indulgently;  he  knew  John's  pecu 
liarities. 

"  I  fear  it  will  be  quite  impossible.  The  ship  was  sold  out, 
and  only  an  application  from  headquarters  for  a  member 
of  the  firm  —  I  suppose  you  are  a  member  now  —  secured 
the  accommodation.  They  offered  me  the  captain's  room, 
but  I  recalled  your  experience  of  two  or  three  summers  ago, 
and  declined,  so  they  made  some  changes  and  assigned  you 
this  room.  I  do  not  see  how  we  could  very  well  decline  it 
without  offence.  In  fact,  they  would  be  quite  apt  to  think 
we  did  not  wish  to  accept  favors,  and  would  be  suspicious. 

[56] 


A  Wireless  Message 

As  our  rebates  are  very  satisfactory,  most  satisfactory,  I  think 
we  should  show  our  appreciation  by  letting  them  have  their 
own  way." 

"But  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  sacrifice  my  comfort 
simply  because  the  rebates  are  satisfactory,"  said  John,  with 
some  impatience. 

"You  are  now  connected  with  Ganton  &  Co.,  and  no 
longer  a  private  individual ;  and  as  such  you  will  have  to  make 
some  sacrifices;  most  young  men  would  not  consider  it  a 
hardship  to  cross  in  a  cabin  de  luxe." 

"  Well,  I  consider  it  a  ridiculous  display  and  a  waste  of 
money." 

"But  it  costs  us  nothing,"  Sanford  hastened  to  say. 

"So  much  the  worse.  Every  one  will  know  I  am  travel 
ling  free  because  I  'm  connected  with  Ganton  &  Co.  I  do 
not  like  it  at  all,  Mr.  Sanford,  and  I  wish  you  would  make  a 
change." 

The  tone  of  the  young  man  was  sharp  and  peremptory, 
and  Hart  Sanford  looked  perplexed.  He  did  not  wish  to 
offend  John,  he  did  not  wish  to  offend  any  one  who  might  in 
time  occupy  a  superior  position;  but  above  all  he  did  not 
care  to  offend  old  John  Ganton,  for  that  would  be  disastrous. 

"  I  'd  do  anything  I  could,  you  may  be  sure,"  he  said  hesi 
tatingly,  "but  your  father  wired  us  to  do  as  we  have  done. 
In  fact,  the  agent  of  the  steamship  company  in  Chicago  ar 
ranged  the  matter  with  your  father  himself;  you  are  booked 
as  a  representative  of  the  company,  and  the  officers  of  the 
ship  have  been  instructed  to  give  you  every  attention  —  you 
know  your  father  has  his  own  ideas  about  maintaining  the 
prestige  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  and  they  are  very  positive." 

John  knew  this  only  too  well.  His  father's  aggressive 
[57] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

business  methods  were  distasteful  to  him;  everywhere  he 
went  in  Europe  as  well  as  America  the  firm  name,  GANTON 
&  Co.,  confronted  him,  as  a  brand  on  soap,  tallow,  lard, 
oleomargarine,  glue,  fertilizers,  dried,  smoked,  and  tinned 
meats,  soups,  beef  extracts,  health  foods,  chemicals,  per 
fumes, —  products  and  by-products  in  almost  endless  varie 
ties.  GANTON  &  Co.  everywhere!  The  great  sign  was  on 
streets,  stores,  warehouses,  factories,  cars,  ships,  along 
highways,  in  fields,  on  hillsides  and  mountains,  on  the 
roofs  of  houses,  on  the  sides  of  barns,  along  fences  and 
walls.  Everywhere  GANTON  &  Co.,  until  he  sometimes 
felt  as  if  the  world  were  staring  at  him,  as  at  an  animated 
advertisement. 

Now,  more  than  ever,  did  he  feel  himself  a  factor  in  the 
display  of  the  business.  He  felt  as  if  his  individuality  were 
slipping  away  from  him;  as  Sanford  made  plain  his  power- 
lessness  in  so  simple  a  matter  as  choosing  a  stateroom  on  a 
steamer,  this  feeling  of  helplessness  increased. 

What  could  he  do  ?  What  could  any  one  do  ?  were 
some  of  the  thoughts  which  flitted  through  his  mind.  Though 
he  should  change  his  name  and  fly  to  some  remote  corner  of 
the  earth,  he  would  surely  be  discovered.  For  that  matter, 
where  could  he  find  a  spot  beyond  the  long  reach  of  GANTON 
&  Co.  ?  If  it  was  part  of  his  father's  plan  to  have  him 
travel  as  a  known  and  duly  accredited  representative,  how 
could  he  help  himself  ? 

For  a  time  he  sat  in  Sanford's  private  office,  thinking. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  accept  things  as  he  found  them. 
The  mere  crossing  under  conditions  he  did  not  like  did  not 
amount  to  so  much,  but,  somehow,  the  ship  assumed  a  vast 
importance  in  his  mind,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  now  about 

[58] 


A  Wireless  Message 

to  choose  once  for  all  his  vocation  in  life,  to  decide  whether 
or  not  he  should  bend  his  neck  to  the  yoke. 

Sanford  Avatched  him  curiously,  half  divining  what  was 
in  the  young  man's  mind.  There  had  been  times,  years 
before,  when  Hart  Sanford,  too,  had  felt  restless  under  the 
pressure  of  the  organization  of  which  he  was  now  a  useful 
member.  He  had  once  cherished  notions  of  his  own  —  not 
ideals,  but  very  positive  notions  —  concerning  business  and 
business  methods.  One  by  one  these  notions  had  been 
absorbed  so  far  as  useful,  dissipated  so  far  as  useless,  by  the 
great  organization,  until  he  came  to  have  no  notions  at  all, 
but  simply  worked  as  a  human  machine.  He  did  not  under 
stand  John,  but  he  knew  he  had  queer  ideas  that  must  be 
taken  out  of  him,  and  a  more  tractable  disposition  substituted. 
The  process  of  elimination  and  substitution  would  not  be 
pleasant,  and  in  his  heart  he  had  a  feeling  of  sympathy.  It 
was  Sanford's  lot  to  deal  with  many  a  young  man  fresh 
from  college.  John  Ganton  was  prejudiced  against  college 
graduates.  He  often  said: 

"Young  men  who  begin  life  at  twenty-four  are  office 
boys  at  fifty ;  you  have  to  catch  a  boy  early  to  make  a  man  of 
him";  and  he  seldom  allowed  a  college  man  to  enter  either 
the  Yards  or  the  Chicago  office.  In  the  East  it  was  different; 
college  men  were  so  numerous  they  had  to  be  taken  into 
various  subordinate  positions.  It  therefore  fell  to  the  lot 
of  the  managers  of  the  Eastern  branches  to  break  them 
in,  and  Hart  Sanford  knew  from  many  an  unpleasant  ex 
perience  how  hard  it  was  to  knock  the  ideals,  nearly  all 
vague  and  visionary,  out  of  a  young  man  fresh  from  con 
tact  with  the  world  of  unreality,  and  make  of  him  a  hewer 
of  wood  and  drawer  of  water, —  a  two-legged  beast  of 

[59] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

burden.  But  it  had  to  be  done,  else  business  would  come 
to  a  standstill. 

"  He  has  the  right  stuff  in  him,"  he  muttered  to  himself  as 
John  left  the  office,  "  he  has  the  right  stuff  in  him.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  —  "  and  Hart  Sanford  whistled  softly  and 
looked  at  the  ceiling  without  finishing  the  sentence,  for  at 
that  moment  one  of  his  salesmen  entered,  the  keenest  man 
connected  with  the  New  York  branch. 

"  Did  you  see  the  young  man  who  just  went  out  ?  "  asked 
Sanford  carelessly,  at  the  same  time  eying  the  other  closely. 

"  Yes.     Why  ?     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  How  did  he  strike  you  ?  " 

"  U'mm  —  so-so  —  mind  of  his  own  —  bull-doggy  about 
the  jaw.  Why  ?  Is  he  looking  for  a  place  ?  " 

"  No  —  or  rather  yes  —  ' 

"  No  good  as  a  salesman,  I  should  say  —  might  make  a 
good  manager  —  ha-ha ! " 

"  That 's  no  joke.   That  young  fellow  is  John  Ganton,  Jr." 

"Whew!  You  don't  say  so.  Well,  there  is  something  of 
the  old  man  in  him,  and  no  mistake." 

"  That  's  how  he  strikes  me,"  Sanford  remarked  thought- 
fully. 

The  next  morning  as  John  Ganton,  Jr.,  walked  slowly 
down  the  long  covered  pier,  he  watched  the  people  rushing 
to  and  fro,  the  porters,  stewards,  messenger  boys,  all  excite 
ment  and  confusion,  shouting  and  noise,  and  every  one  acting 
as  if  the  boat  were  leaving  the  next  moment.  He  was  in  no 
hurry  —  he  never  did  hurry.  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  his 
that  excitement  in  others  had  the  reverse  effect  on  him,  and 
he  was  never  so  self-possessed  as  when  others  lost  their  heads. 
His  father  had  once  noted  that  unusual  trait  when  they  were 

[60] 


A  Wireless  Message 

on  a  street  car  as  it  was  struck  by  a  locomotive  at  a  cross 
ing  and  several  injured,  one  or  two  quite  seriously.  Young 
John,  then  only  fifteen,  was  neither  frightened  nor  excited, 
but  so  coolly  tried  to  help  the  passengers  out  that  his  father 
afterward  said  approvingly: 

"You  '11  manage  men  all  right,  my  boy;  the  winner  is  the 
man  who  plays  ball  when  the  rest  get  rattled." 

In  his  cabin  he  found  a  telegram  of  hearty  good  wishes 
from  his  brother,  and  an  affectionate  letter  in  his  mother's 
cramped  and  labored  handwriting,  in  which  she  said :  "  I  am 
afraid  your  father  is  disappointed  in  Will.  Poor  boy,  he  does 
not  like  to  stay  out  at  the  Yards  these  hot  days.  I  wish  he 
had  something  to  do  in  the  office  down  town  but  your  father 
won't  hear  of  a  change.  I  don't  know  what  it  will  all  come 
to,  I  am  sure,  but  your  father  gets  very  angry  and  I  am  afraid 
to  say  anything.  I  hope,  John,  you  won't  disappoint  your 
father  too.  Do  try  and  please  him  and  come  back  soon. 
Will  is  out  so  much  evenings  that  this  big  house  is  very  lonely. 
If  Will  would  only  marry  some  good  wife  and  settle  down,  how 
happy  I  should  be !  I  hear  he  goes  a  good  deal  with  one  of  the 
Keating  girls, —  you  remember  the  Keatings.  May  and  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Jack  Wilton,  are  much  talked  about,  and  your 
father  is  down  on  the  family.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how 
it  will  all  turn  out.  Your  father  is  more  wrapped  up  in  busi 
ness  than  ever,  and  I  see  very  little  of  him.  So  many  strange 
men  come  here  to  the  house  that  he  works  as  hard  at  home 
as  in  the  office.  There  is  more  to  live  for  than  money;  I 
wish  we  did  not  have  so  much ;  it  frightens  me.  I  hope  and 
pray,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  care  more  for  other  things." 

John  smiled  sadly  as  he  read  his  mother's  anxious  fore 
bodings, —  fears  and  hopes  she  never  failed  to  repeat  in  her 

[61] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

letters.  Dear,  sweet  little  woman,  she  had  no  thought  in  life 
but  the  happiness  of  others.  Her  view  might  not  be  broad, 
but  it  embraced  no  selfish  aim. 

The  cabin  de  luxe,  with  its  profusion  of  clumsy  wood- 
carving,  stucco  ornaments,  gilding,  startling  silk  brocades, 
and  tufted  furniture,  was  more  distasteful  than  ever;  the 
smirking  steward  was  already  at  the  door  forcing  his  sendees 
in  anticipation  of  the  liberal  tip  he  expected  at  the  end  of  the 
voyage;  curious  travellers  of  both  sexes  going  through  the 
narrow  passageway  half  paused  at  the  open  door  to  wonder 
what  celebrity  occupied  so  gorgeous  a  suite  of  rooms;  he 
was  already  paying  the  penalty  of  the  notoriety  thrust  upon 
him. 

The  corresponding  suite  at  the  other  end  of  the  passage 
way  was  occupied  by  a  New  York  banker  and  his  wife.  They 
were  travelling  with  a  valet,  two  maids,  and  a  poodle  —  one 
maid  cared  for  the  dog.  To  get  their  rooms  settled  re 
quired  the  sendees  of  all  their  retainers,  several  stewards, 
and  a  stewardess;  and  it  was  no  part  of  the  banker's  plan 
to  conceal  the  fact  he  had  bought  the  best  the  ship  afforded. 
When  he  met  John  in  the  passageway,  he  held  out  his  hand 
and  said  in  a  loud  voice: 

"This  is  Mr.  Ganton,  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  I  presume.  I 
know  your  father;  in  fact,  he  does  considerable  business  with 
us.  The  agents  told  me  you  would  be  aboard.  Permit  me 
to  introduce  myself,  Jarvis  Townsend  of  Townsend  Brothers. 
We  shall  see  more  of  each  other;  Mrs.  Townsend  will  be  so 
glad  to  meet  you,"  and  hardly  waiting  for  a  reply  to  his 
breezy  salutation,  Jarvis  Townsend  hurried  away  to  get  off 
some  telegrams.  John  wondered  if  every  man  on  board 
who  had  ever  heard  of  Ganton  &  Co.  or  used  any  of  the 

[62] 


A  Wireless  Message 

company's  by-products  would  feel  free  to  greet  him  and 
claim  an  acquaintance. 

A  few  hours  later  the  ship  was  composing  itself  for  the 
voyage.  Sailors  moved  about  silently,  making  things  snug 
and  tidy.  Among  the  passengers  smart  jackets  and  hats 
had  been  exchanged  for  less  perishable  and  more  comfort 
able  wraps  and  millinery,  —  a  transformation  becoming  to 
some,  fatal  to  most,  women.  Take  it  all  in  all,  masculine 
man  is  the  better-looking  animal  on  the  wing,  his  outward 
apparel  lending  itself  more  gracefully  to  the  nomadic  life,  a 
slouchy  suit  becoming  him  well. 

After  luncheon  Ganton  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the 
smoking-room  trying  to  read  a  paper  which  he  had  thrust 
in  his  pocket  as  he  came  on  board.  He  did  not  smoke;  had 
never  acquired  the  habit.  That  it  was  social  and  a  mark 
of  good-fellowship  did  not  appeal  to  him. 

Two  men  seated  themselves  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
small  table,  ordering  coffee  with  their  cigars.  John  knew 
one  was  the  Austrian  Ambassador  at  Washington. 

After  a  desultory  conversation  the  companion  of  the 
Ambassador  asked : 

"And  why  are  you  crossing  now,  Count?  I  thought 
you  were  home  only  a  few  months  ago." 

"  So  I  was ;  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  getting  away  from  some 
unpleasant  negotiations." 

"  Indeed,  what 's  the  trouble  now  ?  " 

"  Since  we  are  well  under  way  and  there  is  no  reason  for 
further  secrecy,  I  '11  say  that  the  fact  is,  to-morrow  my  govern 
ment  is  promulgating  certain  orders  regarding  the  inspection 
of  American  meats  which  will  pretty  effectually  shut  Ameri 
can  pork  out  of  Austria."  There  was  a  perceptible  ring 

[63] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

of  exultation  in  the  Ambassador's  voice  which  betrayed  his 
satisfaction,  and  he  spoke  so  loudly  it  was  quite  apparent 
that  he  was  willing  John  or  any  other  American  should  hear 
of  the  action  of  his  government. 

"  But  why  do  you  leave  Washington  at  such  a  time  ?  " 

" In  order  that  —  "  the  Ambassador  hesitated;  diplomatic 
reasons  are  diplomatic  secrets,  not  to  be  disclosed,  therefore 
he  continued :  "  Oh,  for  a  brief  rest !  Meanwhile  the  negotia 
tions  sure  to  follow  will  be  carried  on  at  Vienna  through  the 
American  Ambassador  —  convenient  for  us,  —  I  should 
say  for  both  parties,"  and  the  Ambassador  smiled  as  all 
ambassadors  smile  when  they  think  they  have  achieved  one 
of  the  petty  advantages  which  constitute  the  triumphs  of 
modern  diplomacy. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  impelled  him,  John  rose  from  his  seat  and  made  his 
way  directly  to  the  second -cabin  deck,  where  he  found  the 
operator  of  the  wireless  system  just  leaving  his  instruments. 
Giving  his  name,  he  asked, 

"  Are  you  still  in  touch  with  land  ?  " 

"  Just  exchanged  the  last  word." 

"  Can't  you  send  a  short  message  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  it,  Mr.  Ganton,  but  I  can  try.  Give  me  your 
message  in  as  few  words  as  possible,"  and  he  hastily  adjusted 
his  transmitter  until  the  heavy,  hoarse  buzz  of  the  long  spark 
was  again  heard  as  he  signalled  the  shore.  After  several 
attempts,  there  was  an  answer.  Meanwhile  John  had 
quickly  pencilled  the  following : 

GANTON,  Chicago: 

Austria  excludes  American  pork  to-morrow. 

JOHN. 

[64] 


A  Wireless  Message 

"Please  ask  shore  to  repeat  that,  so  we  may  be  sure," 
he  requested. 

After  many  repetitions  of  letters  and  words  the  operator 
transmitted  the  message,  but  communication  became  more 
and  more  difficult,  and  it  was  a  good  half-hour  before  he 
secured  a  repetition. 

John  thanked  the  operator  for  his  trouble  and  asked, 
"  What  are  the  charges  ?  " 

"We  are  taking  no  general  business  this  trip,  and  there 
fore  have  no  tariff  yet ;  I  could  not  have  sent  the  message  if 
the  captain  had  not  told  me  to  send  anything  you  wished." 

Leaving  a  gold  piece  on  the  little  table  which  held  the 
instruments,  John  returned  to  his  book  and  seat  in  the 
smoking-room,  giving  the  incident  no  further  thought;  in 
fact,  he  erased  it  from  his  mind  almost  as  completely  as  if  it 
had  not  occurred. 

The  Ambassador  and  his  companion  had  finished  their 
coffee,  and  disappeared. 

It  was  just  fifteen  minutes  before  two,  allowing  for  the 
difference  in  time,  when  Browning  hurriedly  entered  the 
private  office  and  handed  old  John  Ganton  the  despatch. 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible.  Where  could  John  get  such 
information  ?  What  shall  we  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  exclaimed  the  old  man  as  he  glanced  at  the  de 
spatch,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  Sell !  Is  Parker 
on  the  floor?" 

"Yes." 

"  Put  him  on  my  'phone." 

In  a  moment  Parker,  the  suave  and  silent  representative 
of  Ganton  &  Co.  on  the  Board  of  Trade,  was  at  the  private 

[65] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

telephone,  and  in  a  few  words  the  old  man  ordered  him  to 
sell  not  only  everything  Ganton  &  Co.  dealt  in,  but  the  entire 
list,  and  give  the  market  all  it  would  stand  for  future  delivery. 
"  Place  a  few  buying  orders  among  our  own  brokers,  and  also 
with  the  Union,  International,  and  Borlan  brokers,  so  there 
will  be  an  appearance  of  good  buying;  let  the  speculative 
crowd  do  the  selling;  be  careful,  time  is  short." 

Turning  to  Browning,  he  said  sharply: 

"  Have  the  New  York  office  send  over  the  ticker  a  rumor 
from  Washington  that  Austria  has  adopted  a  more  liberal 
policy  regarding  American  meats;  also  tell  Sanford  to  see 
that  some  large  buying  orders  at  prices  just  below  the  market 
are  sent  in  here  at  once  by  strong  New  York  brokers  with 
foreign  connections;  in  the  turmoil  we  will  unload  what  we 
have,  and  go  short  to  the  limit  of  the  market's  capacity.  Give 
me  the  New  York  wire;  stocks  will  go  off  a  point  or  two 
to-morrow." 

It  was  ten  minutes  of  two  in  Chicago,  of  three  in  New 
York,  when  John  Ganton  finished  giving  his  orders ;  at  two 
o'clock  he  was  in  close  conference  with  the  president  of  the 
Central  Railway,  devising  a  schedule  of  switching  and  demur 
rage  charges  whereby  Ganton  &  Co.  would  secure  indirectly 
a  rebate  on  all  shipments.  The  transactions  on  the  Board 
quite  passed  out  of  his  mind ;  he  gave  them  no  further  thought 
until  later  in  the  day  he  read  on  the  financial  page  of  the 
Evening  Star: 

"  The  provision  market  was  lifeless  until  the  closing  hour 
of  the  session,  when  it  was  suddenly  galvanized  into  a  state 
of  feverish  activity.  On  rumors  from  Washington  that 
the  Austrian  government  had  taken  favorable  action  regard 
ing  the  inspection  of  American  meat,  trading  was  heavy. 

[66] 


A  Wireless  Message 

Apparently  Ganton  &  Co.,  the  International,  the  Union,  and 
Borlan  Bros,  were  buyers;  the  speculative  crowd  were  large 
sellers.  The  singular  feature  of  the  trading  was  that  not 
withstanding  the  favorable  rumors  from  Washington  and  the 
buying  by  the  big  packers,  the  market  closed  weak;  wheat 
and  corn  were  off,  pork  closed  5  @  12^  c,  lard  2 \  @  7|  c,  and 
ribs  5  @  7^  c  lower  for  the  day;  this  caused  an  old  trader  to 
remark  when  the  flurry  was  over,  '  It  looks  as  if  somebody  's 
been  unloading  on  the  boys.' ' 


The  next  morning  when  John  Ganton  arrived  at  his  office, 
he  said  to  Browning  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction, 

"I  guess  the  International,  Union,  and  Borlans  must 
have  bought  some  of  the  stuff  yesterday." 

"  As  near  as  I  can  gather  they  took  on  most  of  it,  with  the 
room  traders  at  their  heels.  We  are  short  a  big  line,  and  if 
John  has  given  us  the  wrong  tip  we  stand  to  lose  considerable 
money." 

"The  boy  is  not  mistaken,"  exclaimed  Ganton,  impa 
tiently.  "  He  may  be  a  fool  in  most  things,  but  when  he  says 
a  thing  it  goes." 

"  But  where  could  he  have  got  —  "  Browning  was  urging 
doubtfully. 

"  Where !  Who  cares  where  ?  If  you  did  not  stop  to  think, 
Browning,  you  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  traders  in  Chi 
cago;  to  get  to  the  top  in  this  world  a  man  must  think  and 
act  sy-mul-taneously."  That  was  a  favorite  maxim  with 
John  Ganton :  "  A  man  must  think  and  act  sy-mul-taneously." 

"There  are  plenty  of  men,"  he  went  on,  "in  the  world 
who  act  without  thinking,  and  a  lot  who  think  without  acting, 
but  there  are  mighty  few  who  think  and  act  sy-mul-taneously, 
—  and  they  are  near  the  top." 

[67] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  There  's  no  confirmation  of  John's  report  in  the  morning 
papers,"  Browning  said. 

"  Did  n't  expect  it.  They  go  to  press  too  early.  But 
it 's  now  afternoon  in  Vienna,  and  we  ought  to  hear  some 
thing  soon." 

At  nine  o'clock  all  the  big  packers  had  private  despatches 
announcing  the  new  orders  virtually  excluding  American 
pork  and  pork  products  from  Austria.  The  papers  issued 
extras,  and  all  was  excitement  on  the  Street. 

John  Ganton  was  reading  the  cablegrams  spread  on  his 
desk  when  Allan  Borlan  rushed  in  unannounced. 

"  Why,  Allan,  good-morning.     What  's  the  trouble  now  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  the  news  from  Vienna  ? "  asked 
Allan,  breathless  with  excitement. 

"  Just  looking  over  the  despatches ;  it  seems  they  do  not 
want  our  pork." 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"Kill  pigs,"  was  the  terse  response. 

"Yes;  but  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  the  Austrian 
market  ?  " 

"Sell  pork." 

"How  can  we,  with  their  unreasonable  and  arbitrary 
regulations  ?  " 

"Inspection,  my  boy,  is  a  question  of  inspectors;  inspec 
tors  is  a  question  of  money,"  was  the  bland  answer. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Ganton,"  and  Allan  Borlan 
looked  puzzled,  "  if  you  mean  we  are  to  bribe  —  " 

"  No  one  '  bribes,'  nowadays,  it  is  simply  a  matter  of  fair 
compensation  for  services  performed.  No  one  expects  in 
spectors  to  work  for  the  paltry  salaries  paid  by  their  govern- 

[68] 


A  Wireless  Message 

ments, —  we  must  all  chip  in  a  little."  John  Ganton  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  eyed  the  young  man's  perplexity  with 
an  amused  expression. 

"  I  cannot  consent  that  our  firm  —  "  Borlan  was  proceed 
ing  with  some  hesitation. 

"  There  are  some  things,  Allan,  as  I  said  to  you  the  other 
day,  which  you  'd  better  leave  to  your  brothers.  I  like  you 
too  well  to  see  you  make  a  fool  of  yourself."  The  old  man's 
voice  was  rough  but  kindly,  for  there  was  something  about 
Allan  Borlan  he  liked,  in  spite  of  the  latter's  "  fool  notions," 
as  he  called  them. 

"We  bought  pretty  heavily  yesterday,"  said  Borlan  rue 
fully.  "I  suppose  you  did  also,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"No,  we  sold  everything  we  had,  and,  I  am  afraid,  a 
leetle  more." 

Borlan  looked  up  in  amazement.  "  Why,  I  thought  your 
people  were  buyers." 

"  Just  enough  to  keep  the  boys  guessing." 

"  Did  you  know  —  " 

"It  's  our  business  to  know." 

"  But  the  rumors  from  Washington  - 

"Are  seldom  reliable  —  unless  well  paid  for." 

Allan  Borlan  left  the  small,  dingy  private  office  profoundly 
impressed  with  the  sagacity  of  John  Ganton.  When  he 
repeated  the  substance  of  the  conversation  to  one  of  his 
brothers  the  only  comment  was: 

"  So  the  old  man  has  fooled  us  all  again,  and  wants  us  to 
know  it.  There  is  n't  his  equal  in  the  country,  hang  him ! " 

That  morning  the  provision  market  went  all  to  pieces, 
with  the  grain  market  weak  in  sympathy.  Many  a  trader 
was  closed  out,  and  three  small  brokerage  concerns  went  to 

[69] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

the  wall.  Indeed,  it  was  so  near  to  a  panic  that  only  the 
buying  of  Ganton  &  Co.  to  cover  their  short  line  kept  the 
bottom  from  dropping  out  of  everything. 

"An  illustration,"  John  Ganton  said  to  Browning  late 
in  the  afternoon,  "  of  the  good  effects  of  speculation.  If  we 
had  not  gone  short  yesterday,  we  could  not  have  supported 
the  market  to-day,  and  there  would  have  been  a  panic  sure." 

"  John's  despatch  has  netted  us  about  four  hundred 
thousand  dollars,"  Browning  calculated. 

"Put  half  of  it  in  the  bank  to  his  credit."  And  the  old 
man  continued  dryly,  "  It  may  be  the  only  money  he  '11  ever 
make."  With  that  the  incident  was  closed. 

When  John  Ganton,  Jr.,  landed  in  Liverpool,  MacMasters 
met  him,  and  together  they  went  to  the  dingy  office,  over  the 
door  of  which  was  the  sign,  GANTON  &  Co.  Without  wasting 
a  moment  in  idle  conversation,  he  turned  to  the  desk  in  the 
main  office  which  had  been  assigned  to  him  and  began  asking 
about  the  details  of  the  business. 

That  night  MacMasters  remarked  to  his  wife : 
"  For  a  chap  without  experience,  he  is  about  as  keen  as 
they  make  them." 


[70] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GREAT  STRIKE 

BORLAN  BROS.'  teamsters  and  firemen  went  out  the 
second  week  in  July.  The  strike  tied  up  most  of  their 
plant,  the  engineers  refusing  to  work  with  non-union 
firemen. 

The  firemen  had  no  grievance,  but  went  out  at  the  request 
of  the  teamsters.  In  doing  so  they  deliberately  broke  their 
contract  with  the  employers,  containing  as  it  did  a  provision 
against  sympathetic  strikes. 

"You  see,"  said  George  Borlan,  bitterly,  to  his  brothers, 
"what  agreements  with  the  unions  amount  to.  They  are 
not  worth  the  paper  they  are  written  on." 

Allan  had  nothing  to  say.  The  men  had  violated  their 
contract,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  He  was  sorry,  for 
he  himself  had  made  the  agreement  with  the  firemen  only 
four  months  before.  The  president  of  the  firemen's  union 
was  in  the  employ  of  Ganton  &  Co.;  when  he  called  out 
Borlan  Bros.'  men  Allan  charged  him  with  breaking  the 
agreement  regarding  sympathetic  strikes. 

"Agreement  be  damned!"  he  growled  insolently.  "The 
men  propose  to  stand  by  the  teamsters." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  Tuesday  preceding  the  strike 
three  men  were  seated  about  a  table  in  a  small  rear  room  in 
the  second  story  of  one  of  the  old  buildings  on  Clark  Street. 
On  the  first  floor  was  a  saloon  of  unsavory  reputation;  the 
upstairs  room  was  reached  by  a  narrow  stairway  leading 

[71] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

from  a  hallway  into  which  a  side  door  opened  from  the 
saloon,  so  that  persons  could  enter  direct  from  the  street  or 
by  way  of  the  saloon,  as  discretion  might  dictate. 

The  room  was  Norberg's  private  office,  an  office  so  private, 
in  fact,  he  never  used  it  except  for  conferences  of  the  most 
delicate  nature.  When  he  did  use  it  he  invariably  came 
through  the  saloon,  the  proprietor  of  which  was  paid  to  be 
friendly. 

The  three  men,  Norberg,  Fanning,  and  Scotty,  were 
drinking  beer  and  smoking  cheap  cigars,  a  box  of  which  lay 
open  before  them. 

"  Why  does  n't  Ballard  show  up  ? "  asked  Norberg. 
"  Did  n't  he  say  he  'd  be  here  at  three  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  '11  come  around  all  right.  I  saw  him  this  morn 
ing;  he  said  he  was  going  out  to  the  Yards  first." 

"What  for?"  Norberg  looked  up  suspiciously. 

"  To  see  some  of  the  boys,  and  make  sure  the  thing  can  be 
handled." 

" '  To  see  some  of  the  boys  ' ! "  exclaimed  Norberg.  "  Look 
here,  Fanning,  how  many  are  in  this  thing  ?  I  thought  you 
three  were  going  to  handle  it." 

"  Thought  so  myself,  but  this  idea  of  letting  Dorian's  men 
go  out  two  weeks  in  advance  of  the  others  is  a  new  kink,  and 
if  we  don't  look  out  for  two  or  three  of  their  fellows  it  can't 
be  done." 

"That 's  all  right,"  said  Norberg,  warmly,  "but  I  don't 
propose  to  buy  up  every  slippery  agitator  in  the  Yards." 

"  You  don't,  eh  ?  "  shouted  Scotty,  bringing  his  fist  down 
so  hard  on  the  table  that  the  glasses  rattled, — "  you  don't,  eh  ? 
Well,  I  tell  you  you  '11  pay  the  men  we  say,  or  we  '11  strike  the 
entire  Yards  and  do  you  up  at  the  same  time." 

[72] 


The  Great  Strike 

Norberg  saw  he  had  spoken  too  hastily.  "Hold  on, 
Scotty,  don't  get  excited.  I  'm  always  willing  to  do  the 
fair  thing,  but,"  he  added  slowly,  "the  fewer  there  are 
the  bigger  each  man's  share;  there  's  no  use  dividing  up 
a  good  thing." 

The  argument  went  home  to  Scotty  and  Fanning,  and  they 
ooth  expressed  themselves  strongly  against  taking  in  a 
crowd.  They  were  proceeding  to  discuss  figures  when  there 
was  a  light  rap  on  the  door,  and  Norberg  let  Ballard  in.  He 
was  a  man  of  medium  height,  rather  slender,  with  very  dark 
hair,  beard,  and  mustache;  and  apparently  not  over  thirty- 
five  years  of  age.  He  was  not  only  younger  than  his  two 
associates,  but  in  dress  and  general  appearance  far  superior 
to  either  of  them.  As  he  seated  himself  directly  opposite 
Norberg,  the  latter  offered  him  a  glass  of  beer,  which  he 
pushed  to  one  side. 

"You  two  fellows  have  had  too  much  beer  already,"  he 
said  to  Fanning  and  Scotty.  "Why  can't  you  let  booze 
alone  when  there  's  business  on  hand  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  we  're  drunk  ?  "  flared  up  Scotty. 

"  Not  drunk,  but  so  near  it  you  're  of  no  use,"  he  answered 
bluntly.  "It  is  all  arranged,"  he  said,  turning  to  Norberg. 
"  Borlan's  men  will  be  ordered  out  any  day  we  name,  but  it 
will  be  hard  work  keeping  them  idle  with  the  others  at  work. 
The  men  themselves  don't  want  to  go  out,  and  if  it  were  left 
to  a  vote  of  the  locals  they  would  vote  ten  to  one  against  a 
strike  at  this  time." 

"How  are  you  going  to  manage  it?"  asked  Norberg 
anxiously. 

"  Hold  the  meeting  down  town  and  pack  it, —  there's  no 
trouble  about  that.  The  difficulty  will  be  in  keeping  the  men 

[73] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

in  line  when  once  out,  and  to  do  that  we  must  take  five  of 
the  boys  out  there  into  camp." 

"  For  how  much  ?  "  This  time  Fanning  and  Scotty  as 
well  as  Norberg  looked  anxious. 

"A  thousand  dollars  to  one,  five  hundred  to  each  of  the 
others,  three  thousand  in  all.  In  addition  to  that,"  continued 
Ballard,  methodically,  "  we  must  have  fifteen  thousand  dol 
lars  for  our  own  secret  service  fund." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Norberg,  "five  thousand  dollars 
apiece  — 

"  Not  so  loud,  Norberg !  I  did  not  say,  '  Five  thousand 
dollars  apiece,'  I  said  fifteen  thousand  dollars  for  our  secret 
service  fund.  Not  a  cent  less  will  do." 

Ballard's  tone  was  firm,  and  Norberg  could  see  he  meant 
exactly  what  he  said.  "When  do  you  want  the  money?" 
he  muttered  at  last. 

"To-morrow  morning  at  ten-thirty;  we  will  meet  here. 
See  that  you  have  the  currency." 

"Look  here,  Ballard,"  Norberg  exclaimed  suspiciously, 
"  you  and  I  have  never  done  business  together  before.  How 
do  I  know  the  goods  will  be  delivered  ?  " 

"  My  word  for  it,  that 's  all,"  was  Ballard's  cool  response. 

"Well,  just  suppose  you  take  my  word  for  it  and  get 
your  pay  afterwards.  That 's  the  way  I  've  always  done 
business.  Fanning  and  Scotty  can  tell  you  my  word  goes." 

"So  does  mine.  Some  day  your  employers  may  take 
the  'high  moral'  and  go  back  on  you,  Norberg,  and  we 
would  get  left;  I  've  had  one  such  experience.  Cash  in 
advance,  is  my  motto, —  to-morrow  at  ten-thirty,  eighteen 
thousand  dollars." 

"  Look  here,  Ballard,"  Scotty  asked  with  a  sudden  clear- 
[74] 


The  Great  Strike 

ing  up  of  his  befuddled  intelligence,  "  who  's  going  to  have 
the  handling  of  the  three  thousand  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Ballard,  positively. 

"  Are  n't  we  in  it  ?" 

"Not  within  a  thousand  miles." 

"  Well,  if  we  're  not  I  '11  be  blowed  if  - 

"See  here,"  Ballard's  voice  was  sharp  and  peremptory, 
"  do  you  suppose  there  's  a  man  at  the  Yards  who  would  let 
you  handle  his  money?  They  know  they  will  get  every 
dollar  that  's  coming  to  them  through  me,  and  I  '11  see  that 
they  do."  Turning  to  Norberg  he  continued,  "We  '11  hold 
the  meeting  next  Sunday  afternoon  and  vote  to  strike  unless 
our  demands  are  complied  with;  it  is  for  you  to  see  that 
the  packers  talk  arbitration  and  concessions  and  keep  things 
moving  until  they  are  ready  for  a  tie-up." 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  that,"  said  Norberg,  confidently.  "  We 
can  keep  the  thing  going  in  the  newspapers  and  by  confer 
ences  for  a  couple  of  weeks." 

"You  say  you  will  be  ready  to  shut  down  by  the  first  of 
August  ?  "  Ballard  asked,  making  a  few  notes  on  a  slip  of 
paper  that  he  afterward  stuck  in  his  pocket. 

"  Perhaps  a  day  or  two  earlier.  I  '11  let  you  know  in  time, 
and  we  can  break  off  negotiations  and  bring  things  to  a 
head." 

With  that  the  conference  broke  up.  Ballard  went  out 
first,  going  directly  to  the  street;  Fanning  and  Scotty  went 
into  the  saloon,  and  lounging  over  the  sloppy  bar  ordered 
more  drinks.  Norberg,  waiting,  sat  for  some  time  until  he 
thought  it  entirely  safe  to  sneak  through  the  side  door  and  out 
the  alley  entrance  of  the  saloon.  The  only  fear  he  had  was 
of  being  seen  by  other  labor  leaders  with  whom  he  had  done 

[75] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

business  in  the  same  room,  and  who  would  be  sure  to  suspect 
something  was  going  on  now. 

Two  days  before  the  strike  Allan  Borlan  sent  for  those  of 
the  teamsters  who  had  been  longest  in  the  firm's  employment 
and  said  to  them: 

"You  men  have  been  with  this  company  a  good  many 
years,  through  good  times  and  bad ;  most  of  you  I  have  seen 
about  here  ever  since  I  was  a  boy;  I  have  ridden  on  the 
wagons  with  you,  and  you  taught  me  how  to  drive;  we  were 
good  friends  long  before  I  had  anything  to  say  about  the  busi 
ness,  and  we  are  good  friends  still, —  now  tell  me  honestly, 
boys,  do  you  want  to  quit  and  tie  us  up  ?  " 

The  men  shifted  about  uneasily  and  looked  from  one  to 
another,  but  said  nothing.  No  recognized  leader  was  pres 
ent,  and  they  did  not  dare  say  anything  themselves.  They 
liked  Allan  Borlan,  they  had  no  grievance,  they  did  not  want 
to  quit  work,  and  they  did  not  understand  just  why  they  were 
to  quit ;  but  it  was  not  for  them  to  express  an  opinion.  Some 
where  down  in  the  city  the  union  had  voted  to  strike,  and 
they  had  to  obey. 

"Tell  me,  men,  do  you  want  to  go  out?  "  Allan  Borlan 
again  asked. 

Old  Mike  was  the  oldest  teamster  present.  He  had 
worked  for  Allan  Borlan's  father,  so  the  others  looked  to  him 
for  an  answer.  The  old  man  passed  his  battered  and  greasy 
felt  hat  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  said  hesitatingly: 

"  Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Borlan, —  we  've  nothing  to  say 
about  it  — " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mike,  that  you  and  the  men  who 
are  to  go  out  and  lose  their  positions  have  nothing  to  say 
about  it  ?  "  Allan  Borlan  exclaimed. 

[76] 


The  Great  Strike 

"  Not  exactly  —  that  is  to  say,  sorr, —  we  hov  our  votes, 
o'  coorse,  but  we  can't  attind  the  meetings  down  town  very 
well,  so  it  is  left  to  others  to  decide, —  the  locals  niver  have 
much  to  say  in  the  matter." 

"  Who  does  decide  it  ?  " 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  others,  puzzled  and  helpless. 
"I  can't  just  say,  Mr.  Borlan,  none  of  us  has  ever  been  to  a 
meeting.  Ballard  over  at  the  Union  could  tell  you,  sorr;  he 
knows  all  about  it  — 

"Yes;  but  Ballard  works  for  the  Union  Co.  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  whether 
Borlan  Bros.'  teamsters  are  going  out  of  their  own  free  will, 
or  whether  they  are  going  out  at  the  command  of  men  who 
are  in  the  employ  of  our  competitors." 

Old  Mike's  eyes  dropped  before  the  clear,  straightforward 
gaze  of  the  young  man,  and  the  old  felt  hat  was  crumpled 
in  a  manner  that  would  have  been  detrimental  to  it  six  or 
eight  years  earlier,  before  time  had  inured  it  to  ill  usage. 

"  We  've  got  to  do  as  they  tell  us,"  the  old  man  muttered. 

"  Even  if  you  know  you  are  being  used  by  our  competitors 
to  injure  us  ?  "  There  was  a  ring  of  scorn  in  young  Borlan's 
voice  which  the  men  felt. 

"Why,  all  the  teamsters  are  going  out,  Mr.  Borlan,"  Mike 
protested. 

"But  not  this  week,  or  next,"  was  the  sharp  response, 
"  not  until  the  other  packers  are  ready.  If  we  had  contrib 
uted  toward  buying  up  your  dishonest  leaders  you  would  not 
be  called  out,  but  because  I  refused  to  be  blackmailed,  they 
propose  to  tie  us  up. 

"See  here,"  he  went  on  energetically,  "you  are  led  about 
like  a  lot  of  sheep  by  men  who  sell  you  out  at  every  turn. 

[77] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Look  at  Ballard  at  the  Union,  at  Fanning  and  Scotty  over  at 
Ganton's.  Do  they  work?  Not  two  days  a  week.  How 
do  they  manage  to  hold  such  easy  jobs  ?  Because  they  are 
useful,  because  they  control  your  organization,  because  they 
can  be  bought.  If  we  had  put  Scotty  on  our  pay-roll  ten 
days  ago,  you  would  not  be  called  out.  If  we  had  chipped 
in  five  thousand  dollars,  you  would  not  be  called  out.  As  it 
is,  we  are  to  suffer. 

"  Why,  your  leaders  will  play  into  the  hands  of  our  com 
petitors,  and  there  will  be  no  tie-up  of  the  other  plants  until 
the  companies  are  ready.  They  will  run  till  the  first  of 
August,  until  they  have  large  stocks  on  hand,  and  then  the 
men  will  be  called  out, —  that 's  the  programme.  What  I 
want  to  know  is,  whether  you  men  who  have  been  with  us 
all  these  years  are  going  to  let  yourselves  be  traded  in  like 
cattle,  and  leave  us  simply  because  you  are  ordered  to  by 
leaders  who  are  in  the  pay  of  our  competitors !  "  The  eyes 
of  the  young  man  flashed,  his  tone  was  sharp  and  ringing,  he 
had  risen  to  his  feet  and  stood  facing  the  men  only  a  few  feet 
from  them.  In  a  dim  way  they  felt  the  truth  of  all  he  said, 
they  knew  that  somehow  they  were  made  the  tools  of  others ; 
but  the  machinery  of  it  all  was  far  beyond  their  dull  compre 
hension;  all  they  understood  clearly  was  that  if  they  diso 
beyed  orders  they  would  be  fined  heavily,  or  have  their  cards 
taken  away,  which  would  mean  no  work  at  any  of  the  plants. 

"That  may  all  be,  Mr.  Borlan,"  said  old  Mike,  slowly, 
"  we  've  nothing  to  do  with  these  things.  We  've  got  to  do 
as  we  're  told.  We  'd  like  to  stay  with  you,  sorr,  but  we 
must  do  as  we  're  told  or  lose  our  cards.' 

"Then  quit  the  unions,"  Allan  interrupted  warmly. 
"We  '11  take  care  of  you." 

[78] 


The  Great  Strike 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  Ye  could  n't 
do  it,  Mr.  Borlan.  All  the  men  would  go  out;  we  could  n't 
work  in  the  Yards  at  all  if  we  were  n't  union  men ;  we  must 
do  as  we  're  ordered,"  he  repeated  mechanically. 

"And  you  will  go  out?" 

"We  can't  help  ourselves,  Mr.  Borlan." 

"  Then  if  you  do,  Mike,  you  and  the  rest  of  you  need  never 
expect  to  work  for  Borlan  Bros,  again.  You  worked  for  my 
father  when  I  was  a  child,  you  have  worked  for  us  as  long  as 
I  can  remember,  I  expected  you  to  stay  with  us  as  long  as 
you  cared  to  drive  a  team;  but  if  you  go  out  now,  you  and 
every  man  of  you  leave  us  for  good." 

The  young  man's  voice  had  lost  its  defiant  ring,  there  was 
even  a  slight  tremor  as  he  uttered  the  last  words;  the  men 
looked  down  at  the  floor,  and  old  Mike  cleared  his  throat  with 
an  effort  as  he  said  in  a  hopeless  sort  of  a  tone : 

"I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped,  Mr.  Borlan.  Perhaps 
ye  '11  take  us  back." 

"  Never! "  was  the  firm  response,  and  the  men  filed  out. 

It  was  only  by  threat  of  withdrawing  from  the  company 
that  Allan  Borlan  had  persuaded  his  brothers  to  let  him 
handle  this  strike;  they  wished  to  join  the  other  packers  in 
putting  up  what  money  was  needed  to  control  the  situation, 
but  he  had  absolutely  refused  to  permit  a  dollar  of  the  com 
pany's  money  to  be  used  in  that  way.  Further,  he  had 
exacted  a  promise  from  his  brothers  that  they  individually 
would  not  contribute,  but  would  let  events  take  their  course. 

By  working  large  forces  day  and  night  he  had  placed  the 
company  in  fairly  good  shape  for  a  tie-up ;  but  with  the  best 
he  could  do,  some  loss  and  great  inconvenience  could  not  be 
avoided.  If  he  could  have  kept  running  until  the  first  of 

[79] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

the  month  he  would  have  been  in  position  to  reap  his  share 
of  the  advantages  expected  by  his  competitors. 

As  Allan  Borlan  was  leaving  the  Yards  late  that  afternoon 
to  take  the  car,  a  man  with  a  dark  beard  and  mustache  ac 
costed  him, 

"You  are  Mr.  Borlan?" 

"Yes."     Allan  looked  at  the  man  curiously. 

"  I  am  Ballard  of  the  Teamsters'  Committee." 

"I  thought  so." 

"  I  understand  you  called  in  some  of  your  men  to-day  and 
told  them  we  were  selling  them  out." 

"I  did." 

"  Well,  I  would  advise  you  to  keep  mum  on  that  line. " 

"And  if  I  do  not?" 

"You  might  get  hurt, —  that's  all."  Ballard  met  the 
look  of  the  young  man  without  flinching. 

"  For  you  and  your  threats  I  do  not  care  a  rap ;  you  and 
your  associates  are  a  pack  of  cowards,  who  hire  thugs  to  do  the 
work  you  do  not  dare  do  yourselves;  you  are  a  set  of  black 
mailers,  and  you  know  it."  Allan  was  warmed  up,  and  noth 
ing  would  have  pleased  him  better  than  to  have  the  man 
assail  him  then  and  there ;  but  Ballard  only  laughed  and  said 
sneeringly : 

"  Oh,  you  may  talk  to  me  as  much  as  you  please.  I  'm 
used  to  it,  and  it  does  you  good  to  let  off  steam  —  you  all  pay 
in  the  end ;  but, "  and  once  more  he  grew  threatening,  "  I 
warn  you  good  and  fair  against  talking  to  the  men.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  you  will  be  better  off  if  you  keep  your  mouth 
shut.  You  are  young  at  the  business,  and  have  things  to 
learn."  With  that  the  man  walked  off. 


[80] 


CHAPTER  VII 

NOT  A  CENT   FOR   TRIBUTE 

THAT  night  when  Allan  Borlan  met  his  two  brothers  at 
the  home  of  the  oldest  in  Michigan  Avenue,  the  dis 
cussion  of  the  situation  was  long,  earnest,  and  at 
times  heated. 

"You  say  you  won't  pay  a  cent!"  exclaimed  George 
Borlan.  "I  tell  you  it  is  the  only  way  this  labor  situation 
can  be  handled,  and  every  one  knows  it.  How  do  you  sup 
pose  the  Rapid  Construction  Company  is  putting  up  our 
new  warehouse  without  strikes  ?  It 's  taking  care  of  the 
walking  delegates  and  the  business  agents.  That  is  the 
secret  of  their  success.  There  's  not  a  building  contractor 
in  the  city  who  does  not  use  money  to  keep  the  unions  in 
line." 

"  And  how  about  the  men  who  lose  time  and  wages,  who 
stand  by  their  unions  loyally,  who  pay  their  assessments  and 
support  leaders  that  sell  them  out?"  asked  Allan,  bitterly. 

"Who  cares  for  the  men?"  his  brother  answered  hotly- 
"  If  they  permit  themselves  to  be  handled  like  so  many  hogs, 
that  is  their  lookout.  It  is  not  our  fault  that  their  leaders 
are  dishonest. " 

"  But  it  is  if  we  bribe  them,"  interrupted  Allan. 

"No;  the  men  are  dishonest  before  we  have  a  chance  to 
bribe  them.  They  are  looking  for  the  bribe  before  it  is 
offered.  They  come  with  their  hands  open.  They  are  dis 
honest  when  chosen  as  leaders,  and  are  chosen  because  they 

[81] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

are  dishonest.  Talk  about  honesty!  I  tell  you  it  is  easier 
for  the  rich  man  to  get  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  than  for 
an  honest  man  to  be  elected  head  of  one  of  the  labor  organi 
zations." 

"  But  there  are  honest  men  among  them.  " 

"  How  many  ?  Name  three.  Now  and  then  there  is  one 
who  is  said  to  be  honest  and  disinterested, —  though  no  one 
knows  whether  he  really  is  or  not, —  but  honesty  in  union 
management  is  so  rare  that  to  have  the  reputation  for  being 
honest  is  sufficient  to  make  a  man  conspicuous  above  all 
the  others.  They  call  him  '  Honest  John,'  or  'Honest  Tom.' 
Just  as  Kelly  used  to  be  called  '  Honest  John  Kelly '  when  he 
ran  Tammany  Hall, —  simply  because  he  kept  his  word  with 
his  followers,  and  was  honest  as  compared  with  some  of  the 
notorious  rascals  who  preceded  him.  When  honesty  becomes 
a  conspicuous  virtue  in  an  organization  the  organization  is 
rotten." 

Allan  Borlan  could  not  help  acknowledging  the  force  of 
what  his  brother  said.  He  knew  that  petty  bribery  of  walking 
delegates  and  business  agents  was  the  rule  in  all  the  building 
trades,  and  that  in  one  form  or  another  the  agents  of  the 
unions  were  taken  care  of.  Yet  when  it  came  to  their  own 
men  he  could  not  tolerate  seeing  them  betrayed,  and  he  re 
belled  against  the  use  of  money.  He  had  some  ideals  left 
over  from  school  and  college,  he  even  dreamed  that  employers 
and  employees  should  work  together;  but  when  he  tried  to 
impress  these  views  upon  his  brother,  the  latter  exclaimed : 

"  That 's  all  stuff.  There  was  a  time  when  employers  and 
employees  did  work  together  in  a  spirit  of  loyal  cooperation, 
but  times  have  changed.  In  the  old  days  the  union  used  to 
be  along  perpendicular  lines,  now  it  is  along  horizontal. 

[82] 


Not  a  Cent  for  Tribute 

Once  every  plant  was  solidly  united  from  top  to  bottom,  but 
now-a-days  it  is  different.  Our  firemen  are  no  longer  united 
with  our  engineers,  who  are  their  natural  allies,  but  with  the 
firemen  of  our  competitors  who  are  their  industrial  rivals; 
our  engineers  are  united  with  the  engineers  of  other  concerns, 
and  so  are  our  butchers,  our  teamsters,  and  every  grade  of 
employees.  Sympathies  no  longer  permeate  the  mass  from 
the  bottom  up,  and  weld  employers  and  employees  together, 
but  flow  laterally  in  the  futile  endeavor  to  weld  strangers  and 
competitors  together.  That  is  the  trouble  with  the  labor 
situation  to-day ;  no  industrial  concern  is  a  unit  composed  of 
men  cooperating  sympathetically;  but  every  concern  is  com 
posed  of  so  many  layers  of  independent  and  jealous  trades 
each  of  which  is  only  too  glad  if  it  can  assert  its  independence 
at  the  cost  of  the  others  and  regardless  of  the  employer.  Our 
teamsters  will  stand  by  Ganton's  teamsters  sooner  than  by  us 
or  by  the  other  men  in  our  employment.  They  care  nothing 
about  the  success  or  failure  of  Borlan  Bros. ;  all  they  care 
about  is  the  success  or  failure  of  the  teamsters'  union." 

George  Borlan  walked  up  and  down  the  long  library, 
talking  vehemently.  In  his  way  he  was  a  student  and  a 
keen  observer  of  conditions.  He  had  seen  the  various  plants 
at  the  Stockyards  organized  one  by  one,  until  the  unions  were 
in  complete  control.  Then  came  the  question  of  handling 
the  new  situation.  Since  it  was  no  longer  possible  for  each 
employer  to  deal  with  his  own  men,  he  was  compelled  to  do 
the  best  he  could  with  the  organizations ;  and  to  the  surprise 
of  the  packers  the  new  order  of  things  was  found  cheaper 
than  the  old.  It  was  cheaper  to  deal  with  the  unions  than 
with  the  men.  With  the  exception  of  an  outbreak  now 
and  then,  when  the  men  made  a  fuss  and  insisted  upon  some 

[83] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

consideration,  all  difficulties  could  be  adjusted  by  the  use  of 
comparatively  small  amounts  of  money  shrewdly  distributed. 

By  purchasing  the  walking  delegate  or  business  agent,  a 
task-master  was  secured  more  powerful  and  about  as  mer 
ciless  as  the  traditional  slave-driver;  and  he  ordered  the  men 
about  as  no  foreman  ever  dared. 

"Things  have  changed  since  father  founded  this  busi 
ness,"  George  Borlan  continued  earnestly;  "  and  the  trouble 
is,  you  do  not  realize  it,  Allan.  He  used  to  look  out  for  his 
men.  When  they  were  sick  he  helped  them,  when  they  were 
injured  he  cared  for  them,  and  when  they  were  old  he  found 
easy  places  for  them, —  he  treated  them  like  men  and  they 
were  loyal  to  him,  which  simply  means  they  were  loyal  to  the 
business  they  helped  him  build  up.  Now  all  is  different. 
If  men  are  sick  they  are  laid  off  and  lose  their  time,  if  they 
are  hurt  an  insurance  company  steps  into  our  shoes  and 
either  settles  with  them  or  fights  them  if  they  sue  for  dam 
ages.  We  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  their  welfare,  if 
they  are  sick,  injured,  or  old  we  have  no  use  for  them, —  and 
why  should  we  bother  about  them?  They  have  their 
own  organizations  to  which  they  have  transferred  their  loy 
alty,  the  unions  stand  between  them  and  us,  and  contract 
with  us  for  so  many  able-bodied  slaves  at  so  much  per  hour 
per  head.  Under  the  contract  we  are  under  no  obligation 
to  look  after  the  sick  and  decrepit,  for  the  union  will  furnish 
us  sound  animals  in  their  places.  As  a  matter  of  dollars 
and  cents  we  should  be  ahead  if  there  were  a  horse  union 
doing  business  on  the  same  cash  basis;  as  it  is,  we  are  obliged 
to  treat  our  horses  almost  as  well  as  we  used  to  treat  our  men." 

"  But,  George,  unionism  has  come  to  stay,"  Allan  inter 
rupted  in  a  tone  of  protest. 

[84] 


Not  a  Cent  for  Tribute 

"Yes;  and  for  my  part  I  am  glad  of  it,"  his  brother 
almost  shouted.  "The  unions  have  fixed  the  hours  of 
work  and  the  wages,  and  we  are  entitled  to  the  work  of 
a  strong  man  for  eight  hours  a  day  for  our  money.  We 
can  lay  off  the  sick  and  discharge  the  old.  Pretty  soon  no 
industry  will  keep  a  man  after  he  is  turned  forty,  and  why 
should  we  ?  The  unions  are  run  by  the  young  and  able- 
bodied  in  the  interest  of  the  young  and  able-bodied,  they 
encourage  the  employment  of  their  active  members,  and  they 
have  no  use  for  the  old  man  with  a  family,  since  he  is  natu 
rally  a  conservative,  and  therefore  instinctively  opposed  to 
radicalism,  which  is  at  the  basis  of  unionism.  It  is  money 
in  our  pockets  to  deal  with  unions  on  a  business  basis,  and  if 
you  would  only  listen  to  reason  and  do  as  the  other  packers 
do  we  could  control  the  labor  situation  more  easily  than  ever 
before."  George  Borlan's  tone  expressed  the  irritation  he 
felt  because  his  brother  would  not  follow  his  advice. 

"  It 's  no  use,  George,"  Allan  said  stubbornly.  "  I  will 
not  pay  those  fellows  a  cent.  Why,  one  of  them,  Ballard, 
threatened  me  to-night  as  I  left  the  Yards." 

George  Borlan  turned  in  surprise  as  Allan  told  him  what 
Ballard  had  said. 

"  He  is  in  a  position  to  make  that  threat  good,  Allan ;  he 
is  the  most  dangerous  of  the  lot.  Do  you  carry  a  pistol  ?  " 

"  No,  never,"  and  Allan  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"Well,  you  ought  to;  you  must  take  no  chances.  Why, 
those  fellows  control  a  gang  of  sluggers  who  would  just  as 
soon  assault  you  as  they  would  a '  scab.'  ' 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  was  the  careless  response;  "they're 
a  pack  of  cowards." 

"  Therefore  they  're  the  more  dangerous ;  the  professional 
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Ganton  &:  Co. 

slugger  takes  no  chances,  and  he  gives  none.  I  want  you  to 
be  careful,  Allan.  You  don't  understand  the  Yards  yet. 
Why,  some  of  those  foreigners  out  there  don't  know  they  are 
living  in  America,  and  many  of  them  would  knife  a  man  as 
quickly  as  if  they  were  in  their  own  God-forsaken  countries." 

Allan  laughed  at  his  brother's  anxiety.  He  could  not 
conceive  there  could  be  any  real  danger,  and  he  looked  upon 
Ballard's  threats  as  idle. 

For  some  time  longer  the  brothers  discussed  the  situation ; 
finally  Allan  said  he  would  see  John  Ganton  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning,  and  ask  him  once  more  if  he  would  not  stand 
with  them  in  resisting  the  demands  of  the  labor  leaders. 

"It's  no  use,  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said  George  Borlan; 
"the  old  man  has  been  through  the  mill  too  many  times. 
He  fights  when  he  feels  like  it,  but  knows  when  it  is  best  to 
pay, —  and  just  now  it  is  cheaper  to  pay." 

"  It  is  never  cheaper  to  buy  up  professional  blackmailers," 
said  Allan,  warmly;  "  these  fellows  are  leeches.  Give  them  a 
taste  of  blood  and  in  time  they  will  drain  you  dry." 

"  But  it 's  only  a  matter  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
dollars  now, —  a  mere  bagatelle  divided  amongst  us  all. 
Why,  we  '11  lose  more  than  that  the  first  week  of  the  strike." 

"  It 's  only  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  now,  but  it  will  be 
that  much  more  in  a  month  from  now  to  another  gang,  and 
so  on  without  end.  Aside  from  the  principle  involved  I  am 
opposed  to  paying  a  cent  on  grounds  of  economy." 

"Have  your  own  way,  then,"  his  brother  said  wearily; 
"  but  when  you  have  been  at  the  Yards  as  long  as  I  have,  you 
will  find  there  are  some  things  you  can't  control  to  suit  your 
own  fancy,  and  the  labor  situation  is  one  of  them.  I  do  not 
like  paying  money  to  these  rascals  any  better  than  you,  but 

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Not  a  Cent  for  Tribute 

it  can't  be  helped ;  besides,  it 's  my  opinion  that  buying  the 
leaders  will  in  the  end  disintegrate  the  whole  labor  move 
ment.  It  breeds  distrust  and  dissension,  it  keeps  them  at 
war  among  themselves,  and  pretty  soon  the  men  will  learn 
they  are  being  bought  and  sold,  and  they  will  get  ugly. 
Why,  already  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  play  one  union 
against  another  by  buying  up  first  one  crowd  and  then  an 
other.  As  soon  as  it  is  rumored  that  there's  some  money 
in  sight  there  is  a  scramble  to  get  it.  It  is  n't  necessary  to 
buy  all  the  unions  at  any  one  time.  They  don't  trust  each 
other,  for  each  organization  knows  the  other  is  for  sale,  and 
it  is  a  question  which  crowd  of  insiders  gets  hold  of  the  money 
first." 

"Well,  it 's  a  poor  policy  in  the  long  run,"  Allan  Borlan 
insisted. 

"  That  may  be ;  but  I  don't  see  it.  Others  do  it,  and  if 
we  expect  to  live  we  must.  The  man  who  tries  to  run  his 
business  on  a  higher  plane  than  his  competitor  will  make  a 
failure  of  it." 

"There  is  no  harm  trying,"  urged  Allan,  quietly. 

"  If  you  object  to  paying  these  labor  leaders,  why  don't  you 
object  to  the  secret  arrangements  we  have  with  every  railroad 
running  into  Chicago  ?  Why  don't  you  object  to  the  way 
we  handle  our  assessments  and  taxes  ?  Why  don't  you  ob 
ject  to  what  we  pay  the  political  heelers  and  the  inspectors  ?  " 
and  George  shook  his  finger  at  his  brother,  punctuating  every 
word  with  a  gesture.  So  the  discussion  came  to  an  end. 

As  Allan  Borlan  walked  back  to  his  own  home  that  night 
he  could  not  help  thinking  both  his  brothers  had  greatly 
changed  in  the  last  few  years,  and  he  wondered  if  it  was 
possible  the  same  apparently  relentless  conditions  would 

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Ganton  &  Co. 

work  a  similar  change  in  him,  whether  he,  too,  would  be 
obliged  to  swim  with  the  current  or  go  to  the  bottom. 

John  Ganton  was  in  an  irritable  frame  of  mind  when  Allan 
Borlan  called  to  see  him.  Will  had  not  been  home  at  all  the 
night  before.  It  was  not  that  his  being  away  was  anything 
new,  but  at  this  particular  time,  with  a  strike  brewing  and 
each  department  being  pushed  to  its  uttermost,  John  Ganton 
wanted  every  man  about  him  in  his  place. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said  to  Browning,  "if  he  does  n't  attend 
to  business  better,  I  '11  ship  him  to  Kansas  City,  where  the 
work  is  n't  quite  so  pleasant  and  there  are  n't  so  many  clubs." 

"He  '11  turn  up  all  right,"  was  Browning's  invariable  re 
sponse  to  these  outbursts.  He  tried  to  shield  Will  as  best 
he  could,  and  every  man  in  the  employment  of  the  company 
did  the  same.  Even  the  office-boy  gave  Will  a  hint  when 
his  father  was  in  an  unusually  bad  temper.  They  all  liked  the 
son  and  wished  him  good  luck,  and  yet  each  knew  that  by  no 
possibility  could  he  ever  fill  the  shoes  of  old  John  Ganton  as 
the  head  of  the  great  company,  the  one  obvious  truth  which 
John  Ganton  would  not  see.  He  had  brought  Will  up  to 
take  his  place,  and  in  his  boy's  neglect  of  business  he  saw 
only  the  indifference  of  youth,  not  incapacity;  for  that  mat 
ter  Will  Ganton  did  not  lack  a  certain  amount  of  ability,  but 
he  lacked  application ;  he  was  easy-going  and  readily  diverted 
from  the  duty  of  the  hour. 

It  was  at  this  inopportune  moment  Allan  Borlan  pre 
sented  himself  at  the  door  of  the  small  private  office. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  young  man?"  the  old  man  asked 
roughly,  barely  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  papers  before  him. 

"I  came  to  see  you  about  this  strike,  Mr.  Ganton." 
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Not  a  Cent  for  Tribute 

"You  were  here  about  it  the  other  day,  were  n't  you?" 

"Yes;  but—" 

"Well,  have  you  come  to  your  senses  and  decided  to 
let  your  brothers  manage  these  matters?"  The  tone  was 
harsh. 

"No;    we  will  not  pay  these  blackmailers  a  penny." 

"Then  what  are  you  here  for?  You  said  that  the  other 
day." 

"  I  am  here,  Mr.  Ganton,  to  see  if  you  will  not  join  with 
us  in  fighting  them." 

"  No ;  you  can  fight  them  alone.  You  don't  like  my  way, 
I  have  no  use  for  yours;  so  we  '11  each  paddle  his  own  canoe 
and  see  how  we  come  out." 

The  old  man's  tone  was  so  disagreeable  Allan  Borlan  was 
disheartened,  and  his  face  showed  it.  He  simply  said, 
"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Ganton,"  turned  on  his  heel  and  went 
out,  not  even  stopping  to  exchange  a  word  with  Browning 
as  he  looked  up  from  his  desk. 

A  moment  later  Browning  was  closeted  in  the  private 
office  going  over  the  situation.  They  called  up  the  Union 
Co.  to  see  if  their  man  Ballard  could  be  relied  upon. 
"Absolutely,"  was  the  immediate  response.  They  sent  for 
Norberg  and  found  that  every  detail  had  been  attended  to, 
but  that  in  order  to  keep  the  firemen  and  engineers  in  hand 
about  fifteen  thousand  dollars  more  would  be  needed;  for 
that  amount  they  would  be  kept  at  work  or  ordered  out  in 
sympathy  with  the  teamsters,  as  might  be  desired. 

"Let  them  go  out  at  the  Borlan  plant  as  soon  as  they 
please,"  said  the  old  man,  "a  complete  tie-up  there  will 
do  us  no  harm." 

"  Some  day  we  shall  have  to  fight  these  fellows  to  a  finish," 
[89] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

said  Browning,  "  we  cannot  go  on  paying  them  much  longer, 
—  they  are  getting  too  greedy." 

"  We  '11  choose  our  own  time,  and  then  whip  them  to  a 
standstill,"  was  the  grim  response,  and  both  Norberg  and 
Browning  knew  that  when  the  time  did  come  to  fight,  the 
old  man  would  win. 

At  the  Yards  little  groups  of  men  gathered  here  and 
there  earnestly  talking  over  the  impending  trouble.  No 
one  had  a  very  clear  idea  what  it  was  all  about;  there  was 
talk  of  shorter  hours,  increased  wages,  new  classifications,  and 
so  on,  but  hardly  a  man  knew  just  what  the  demands  were. 
Scotty  and  Fanning  were  appealed  to  for  information,  but 
they  usually  answered  with  a  string  of  oaths  which  might 
be  levelled  at  either  the  men  or  their  employers, —  quite  as 
frequently  the  former  as  the  latter. 

No  one  dared  ask  Ballard  any  questions.  He  moved 
about  like  a  sphinx,  saying  little  and  doing  nothing  in  the 
way  of  work.  He  was  on  the  pay-roll  of  the  Union,  but  no 
one  ever  saw  him  doing  anything ;  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
down  town,  and  was  a  potent  factor  in  the  central  organiza 
tion.  Every  labor  leader  knew  Ballard  and  stood  in  no 
little  fear  of  him,  for  in  his  own  union  his  word  was  law, 
and  with  many  of  the  others  he  possessed  an  influence 
beyond  that  of  their  own  oflicers. 

Fanning  and  Scotty  always  had  plenty  of  money,  but  they 
spent  it  freely  and  were  popular;  while  Ballard  had  more 
money,  but  he  saved  it  and  was  unpopular.  No  one  knew 
whence  he  came;  there  were  rumors  lie  had  "served  time" 
somewhere  out  West  for  killing  a  man,  but  the  rumors  could 
not  be  traced  to  responsible  sources,  nor  could  they  be  true, 
for  it  was  generally  known  that  he  did  not  carry  a  pistol  or 

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Not  a  Cent  for  Tribute 

weapon  of  any  kind,  and  he  never  lost  his  temper  or  got 
drunk  and  quarrelsome  like  Fanning  and  Scotty.  There 
was,  however,  a  glitter  about  his  keen  black  eyes  that  the 
men  did  not  like,  and  it  had  a  sobering  effect  upon  Scotty 
in  his  most  maudlin  moments. 

The  prospect  of  a  strike  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the 
hot-headed  younger  men;  but  most  of  their  elders  shook 
their  heads  and  pointed  to  the  fact  that  all  the  companies 
were  carrying  large  stocks,  that  prices  were  low,  and  a  tie- 
up  would  be  playing  into  the  hands  of  their  employers  by 
cutting  down  production  and  advancing  prices. 

"It  's  no  time  to  go  out,  b'ys,"  said  old  Mike  to  a  little 
knot  of  men  gathered  near  one  of  the  doors  of  Borlan 
Bros.'  team  shed;  "iv'ry  house  in  th'  Yarrd  would  loike  to 
shut  down  nixt  month." 

"That's  about  right,"  murmured  several  of  the  men. 

"Oh-h, —  we  '11  show  'em,"  shouted  a  young  fellow,  who 
had  driven  a  team  less  than  six  months ;  "  they  can't  stand 
it  more  than  a  week." 

Old  Mike  shook  his  head.  "  It  '11  be  longer  than  a 
week;  those  of  youse  who  have  no  families  can  stand  it, 
but  it 's  hard  for  us." 

It  was  all  Mike  could  do  in  the  best  of  times  to  support 
his  family,  which  now  consisted  of  himself  and  his  old  wife, 
and  a  sick  and  nearly  helpless  daughter  with  her  three  little 
girls;  the  husband  and  father  had  been  killed  three  years 
before  on  the  railroad.  The  old  man  had  not  saved  up  a 
cent;  it  was  with  difficulty  he  met  his  rent  and  paid  his  bills, 
and  there  were  times  when  he  would  get  behind  in  spite  of  all 
he  could  do.  To  him  the  strike  meant  nothing  short  of 
disaster,  and  yet  he  dared  not  remain  at  work  in  defiance  of 
the  union. 

[91] 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A  DINNER  AT  THE   GOLF  CLUB 

LARRY    DELANEY'S    office    consisted  of   two  small 
rooms  on  one  of  the  upper  floors  of  the  best  build 
ing  on  La  Salle  Street;    the  confidential  character  of 
his  business  did  not  require  large  quarters  on  the  ground 
floor, —  "  Could  not  afford  it,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of  mod 
estly  saying. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  economy,  integrity,  and 
secrecy  about  Delaney's  office  which  inspired  confidence; 
the  rooms  were  decorated  and  furnished  in  the  best  of 
taste;  the  oak  floor  was  stained  a  brown  that  was  almost 
black,  and  covered  with  two  or  three  Oriental  rugs  which 
were  really  old  and  charming  in  their  soft  and  faded  colors, 
but  which  were  so  ragged  and  imperfect  they  cost  com 
paratively  little, —  Delaney  often  said,  "  Any  one  who  pays 
more  than  ten  dollars  for  an  old  rug  is  sure  to  be  cheated." 
The  walls  were  a  dull  green,— "There  are  plenty  of  artists 
nowadays,"  he  observed,  "but  no  painters;  plenty  of  men 
who  can  paint  pictures,  but  few  who  can  paint  walls." 

His  furniture  he  had  picked  up  in  out-of-the-way  places, 
buying  dilapidated  old  pieces  for  a  song  and  having  them 
made  serviceable  without  being  restored. 

"  I  would  n't  risk  myself  in  one  of  your  rickety  chairs, 
Delaney,"  a  friend  frankly  remarked  one  day. 

' '  You  are  quite  right,  my  dear  boy,"  Delaney  replied ; ' '  since 
antique  furniture  has  become  a  fad  it  is  folly  to  sit  down." 

[92] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

A  ticker  in  one  corner  of  the  small  outer  office  and  a 
telephone  on  his  desk  in  the  still  smaller  inner  room  were 
almost  the  only  modern  contrivances  in  sight. 

An  office-boy  too  dull  to  be  observing,  and  too  forgetful 
to  remember  names, —  rare  qualifications  from  Delaney's 
point  of  view, —  was  his  only  assistant. 

While  his  father  was  closeted  with  Norberg  and  Brown 
ing  arranging  the  details  of  the  strike  as  methodically  as 
if  it  were  part  of  the  regular  business  routine,  Will  Ganton 
was  talking  earnestly  with  Delaney  in  the  latter's  private 
office. 

"Borlan's  teamsters  are  going  out  next  week,"  said 
Delaney,  "and  there  are  rumors  the  firemen  and  engineers 
will  strike  too.  If  they  do,  that  means  a  complete  tie-up; 
and  if  this  thing  spreads,  it  means  a  tumble  in  stocks." 

"But  it  won't  spread,"  Will  Ganton  urged,  his  face 
betraying  his  anxiety.  "  I  know  our  people  have  the  matter 
well  in  hand;  I  have  that  from  one  who  knows." 

"Who  ?  "  asked  Delaney. 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  but  he  is  the  man  who  keeps  in 
touch  with  what  is  going  on  in  the  labor  world, —  I  'm  sure  he 
knows." 

"  But  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  they  had  the  matter  in  hand, —  that 's  all  he 
would  say,  but  that 's  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"  It  is  if  the  packers  don't  want  a  strike,  but  suppose  they 
do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  they  don't  want  any  strike.  You  need  n't 
worry  about  that."  Will  seemed  very  confident. 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  so  sure,"  said  Delaney,  doubtfully.  "  It 
may  be  all  right,  but  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things.  The 

[93] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

market  is  off  this  morning,  prices  are  very  shaky,  and  there 
has  been  a  steady  selling  pressure  from  some  direction  for 
several  days,  as  if  big  interests  were  unloading  for  a  drop. 
These  troubles,  whether  they  amount  to  anything  or  not,  are 
sufficient  to  put  an  end  to  any  bull  movement.  We  shall  be 
called  upon  for  more  margins  before  the  day  is  over  unless 
there  is  a  sharp  rally." 

The  two  went  into  the  outer  room  and  looked  at  the 
ticker;  Delaney  ran  the  narrow  ribbon  of  paper  through  his 
fingers  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Market  opened  weak,  and  everything  we  are  interested 
in  is  off." 

He  said  "we,"  as  if  he,  too,  ran  a  chance  of  losing,  and 
Will  Ganton  felt  a  certain  degree  of  comfort  on  that  account, 
but  Larry  Delaney  seldom  speculated.  He  had  learned  that 
it  is  much  safer  to  risk  the  money  of  others  than  one's  own. 

While  the  two  were  watching  the  ticker,  a  note  was 
handed  Delaney  from  the  firm  of  brokers  below  through 
which  he  placed  his  New  York  business. 

"  Just  as  I  thought,"  he  exclaimed,  "  a  call  for  additional 
margins, —  market  very  unsteady." 

"  How  much  ?  "  Will  Ganton  asked  gloomily. 

Delaney  figured  a  moment  on  the  back  of  an  envelope. 

"  It  will  take  at  least  ten  thousand  dollars.  You  see  you 
are  carrying  a  pretty  long  line;  we  've  been  buying  steadily 
on  the  declines." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  put  it  up,  Larry,"  and  the  situation 
really  seemed  hopeless  to  him.  "I  have  borrowed  every 
cent  I  dare  and  my  account  is  overdrawn.  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  raise  another  cent." 

"And  you  don't  want  to  ask  your  father?" 
[94] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

"  I  would  n't  dare  to.  I  have  told  you  what  he  thinks  of 
speculating." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  he  goes  in  so  heavily  himself  - 

"  That 's  another  thing.  He  has  the  money,  and  more 
than  that,  he  knows  what  he  is  about.  He  can  make  or 
break  stocks  from  the  inside.  Why,  if  he  were  short  a  lot 
of  stocks,  it  would  be  like  him  to  hurry  on  a  strike  or  a 
panic  just  to  break  prices." 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  Delaney  exclaimed,  as  if 
suddenly  struck  with  a  new  idea,  "  some  big  fellow  has  been 
selling  nearly  the  entire  list  for  the  last  two  weeks, —  no  one 
knows  who." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has.  Why  should  he  want  low  prices 
with  the  crop  outlook  so  good  ?  " 

"He  may  know  more  than  we  do  about  this  strike  busi 
ness,"  Delaney  remarked  significantly. 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  there  will  be  any  general  tie-up," 
but  this  time  the  young  man's  voice  expressed  uncertainty. 

"Strike  or  no  strike,  we  must  meet  this  call  for  margins," 
said  Delaney,  firmly. 

"  How  can  I,  Larry  ?  Where  can  I  raise  the  money  ? " 
He  looked  so  miserable  Delaney  was  sorry  for  him. 

"Is  there  no  one  in  the  Company  who  would  help  you 
out?" 

Will  thought  a  moment,  and  answered  doubtfully,  "I 
might  ask  Browning, —  he  always  stands  by  me, —  he  might 
let  me  have  the  money." 

"Try  it,"  said  Delaney,  encouragingly. 

"  He  will  ask  for  a  list  of  all  my  trades  the  first  thing." 

Delaney  pulled  a  statement  out  of  a  pigeon-hole  in  his 
desk. 

[95] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  There  you  are, —  in  detail.  Show  it  to  him,  but  hurry. 
If  the  market  sags  much  more  we  might  be  closed  out.  I 
don't  like  the  looks  of  things,"  and  Delaney  once  more  went 
to  the  ticker,  which  was  working  steadily,  indicating  a  very 
active  market.  "The  bears  are  going  to  have  their  inning 
to-day,  that 's  sure." 

Will  did  not  care  to  go  to  the  office  and  run  the  risk  of 
meeting  his  father,  so  he  telephoned  Browning  to  come  to 
one  of  the  private  rooms  of  the  bank  where  he  kept  his  ac 
count.  Fearing  something  was  wrong,  Browning  hastened 
over.  As  Will  went  on  to  explain  how  much  he  needed  ten 
thousand  dollars  immediately,  Browning's  face  fell. 

"Let  me  see  the  list  of  trades,"  he  said  quickly.  As  he 
looked  over  the  statement,  he  pursed  his  lips  and  drew  in  his 
breath  with  a  low  whistle,  as  he  always  did  when  disagreeably 
surprised. 

"You  stand  to  lose  now, —  let  me  see,"  and  he  made  seme 
rapid  calculations  on  a  piece  of  paper,  "not  less  than  forty 
or  fifty  thousand  dollars  as  the  market  is  going  this  morning, 
and  yet  that  is  the  best  you  can  do.  Call  up  Delaney," 
Browning  continued  rapidly  and  decisively,  "  and  tell  him  to 
close  the  trades  at  once." 

Will  Ganton  looked  up  in  amazement :  close  out  his  trades 
at  a  loss  of  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars!  Nothing  was 
farther  from  his  thoughts.  What  could  Browning  be  think 
ing  of? 

"Why,  you're  crazy,  Browning!"  he  exclaimed.  "The 
market  is  bound  to  turn  soon  as  this  strike  talk  is  over." 

"But  it  won't  be  over,"  the  other  answered  quietly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  there  's  going  to  be  a  general  tie- 
up?"  The  young  man's  tone  expressed  his  surprise. 

[96] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

"I  don't  mean  to  say  anything  one  way  or  the  other. 
All  I  can  say  is,  that  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  close  these 
trades  at  once." 

"  I  '11  be  dashed  if  I  will  unless  you  tell  me  there  is  going 
to  be  a  general  tie-up." 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  Will,"  said  Browning  in  a  friendly 
tone ;  "  but  I  can  tell  you  this :  you  are  trading  against  your 
father,  and  for  every  share  of  stock  you  have  bought  he  has 
sold  ten.  I  don't  think  you  or  any  other  man  can  hold  out 
against  him.  That 's  confidential,  mind  you." 

Will  was  dumfounded;  so  his  father  was  in  the  market 
and  on  the  short  side  for  one  of  the  big  turns  for  which  he 
was  famous  in  the  street.  That  meant  a  strike  or  something 
to  bring  prices  down.  Browning  was  right,  and  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  get  out  from  under,  so  he  called  up 
Delaney  and  told  him  to  close  out  all  his  trades. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  Delaney  almost  shouted  into  the  'phone. 

"Close  'em  out, —  quick." 

"What's  up?" 

"  Never  mind, —  don't  know, —  can't  raise  the  money. 
Close  'em  out,  and  we  '11  figure  up  where  we  stand  over  at 
the  Club  this  afternoon." 

As  he  rang  off,  Will  turned  to  Browning  and  asked  des 
perately, 

"  Look  here,  Browning,  can  't  you  give  me  a  pointer  so  I 
can  recoup  some  of  my  losses  ?  " 

"  Keep  out  of  the  market,  Will.  You  have  n't  the  money 
to  play  the  game  in  a  big  way,  and  you  can't  afford  to  play  it 
in  a  small.  You  know  how  your  father  feels, —  what  will  he 
say  when  he  hears  of  this  ?  " 

"He  must  n't  hear  of  it,"  exclaimed  Will  in  alarm. 
[97] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"How  can  he  help  knowing  it?  You  have  lost  nearly 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  you  owe  the  bank  here  over  forty 
and  are  overdrawn.  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"Damned  if  I  know,"  was  the  reckless  answer,  and 
Browning  knew  the  young  man  was  in  a  desperate  frame  of 
mind. 

"There  is  just  one  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  "and  that  is  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter  to  your  father." 

"  I  can't  do  that.  He  's  down  on  me  already,  because  I 
cut  work  yesterday  and  did  not  turn  up  last  night.  I  don't 
care  to  run  my  head  in  the  lion's  jaw  this  morning." 

"  But  he  must  know  in  the  end." 

"  Well,  not  to-day,  Browning;  I  '11  go  out  to  the  Yards  and 
slave  for  a  few  days,  until  it  puts  him  in  good  humor.  If 
you  will  speak  to  the  bank  they  will  carry  me  as  long  as 
necessary." 

Browning  thought  a  moment;  then,  seeing  no  better  way, 
he  sent  for  the  vice-president  of  the  bank  and  arranged  with 
him  to  carry  Will.  To  do  this  Browning  became  morally 
bound  to  see  the  debt  paid,  but  Will  did  not  fully  realize  that. 

They  were  on  the  point  of  leaving,  when  Browning  put  his 
hand  affectionately  on  the  young  man's  arm  and  said, 

"  May  I  say  something  to  you,  Will  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  I  guess  you  are  entitled  to  read  the 
riot  act  to  me  if  any  one  is,"  and  Will  laughed  as  he  turned 
restlessly  in  his  chair. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  read  the  riot  act,"  said  Browning,  with 
a  smile  that  was  almost  sad,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  little 
experience  of  my  own,"  he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  con 
tinued.  "There  was  a  time,  when  I  first  worked  for  your 
father,  when  I  was  nearly  ten  thousand  dollars  behind; 

[98] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

I  had  speculated  and  lost  every  dollar  I  had  and  did  not 
know  where  to  turn.  I  went  to  your  father  and  told  him 
where  I  stood.  He  made  good  my  losses,  and  he  did  it 
without  a  word  of  reproach.  I  had  lost  the  money  in  wheat 
at  a  time  when  he  was  operating  heavily  on  the  other  side  of 
the  market;  but  I  did  not  know  this,  and  every  one  in  the 
office  thought  he  was  buying  when  in  reality  he  was  selling. 
All  he  said  to  me  was,  '  Young  man,  I  guess  I  've  won  your 
money;  if  I  give  it  back  will  you  promise  never  to  speculate  ?  ' 
I  was  only  too  glad  to  make  the  promise.  '  Very  well,'  he 
said,  '  I  will  loan  you  the  money.  That  will  help  keep  you 
straight,  and  you  can  work  it  out.'  I  owe  him  that  money 
yet,  for  he  will  not  let  me  pay  him ;  he  will  not  even  let  me 
talk  about  it.  However,  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
What  I  wish  to  say  is,  that  I  have  watched  the  game  from  the 
inside  and  know  that  only  those  win  who  are  in  a  position  to 
control  the  market,  to  make  or  break  prices.  Panics  are 
brought  on  for  the  benefit  of  pools;  war  scares,  crop  scares, 
strike  scares,  are  all  part  of  the  machinery  of  speculation. 
Every  man  who  has  been  behind  the  scenes  knows  how  they 
are  worked;  the  market  is  honest  only  when  it  is  dull.  You 
ask  me  for  a  pointer  to  help  you  recoup  your  losses ;  I  might 
give  you  one,  and  before  you  could  act  your  father  or  some 
other  great  man  in  the  financial  world  might  see  fit  to  get  on 
the  other  side  of  the  market,  and  you  would  lose  again.  Men 
who  make  and  break  prices  act  quickly." 

Will  had  never  heard  Browning  speak  with  so  much  force, 
and  he  was  greatly  impressed,  far  more  impressed  than  by 
anything  his  father  had  ever  said  to  him;  besides,  there  was 
something  in  Browning's  own  experience  that  appealed  to  him. 
When  he  left  the  bank  he  went  straight  to  his  desk  in  the  Yards. 

[99] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

That  evening  Will  Ganton  was  expected  to  dine  with 
Mrs.  Jack  and  her  sister  at  the  Golf  Club;  these  dinners  had 
become  quite  a  matter  of  course  of  late,  and  people  were 
beginning  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he  and  May  Keating 
either  were  or  soon  would  be  engaged. 

At  the  five-o'clock  train  he  saw  many  men  he  knew;  but, 
depressed  by  the  disastrous  events  of  the  day,  he  threw  him 
self  into  a  vacant  seat  and  buried  his  face  in  the  evening 
paper  to  avoid  the  bother  of  conversation. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  Ganton  ? "  George  Axford 
asked  of  his  three  companions,  seated  a  little  in  the 
rear. 

"Looks  as  if  he  had  been  hard  hit,"  one  remarked, 
glancing  at  Will. 

"They  say  he  's  in  the  market  pretty  heavily,"  was  the 
comment  of  another. 

"  Well,  if  he  is  on  the  bear  side  he  is  all  right.  The  mar 
ket  went  all  to  pieces  to-day." 

'I  rather  think  he  is  on  the  wrong  side,"  interrupted 
Axford;  "I  know  he  took  a  flyer  about  a  month  ago.  I 
did,  myself,  but  I  pulled  out  when  I  saw  how  things  were 
going.  I  guess  he  went  in  deeper." 

"Well,  he  can  stand  it." 

"Maybe  he  can,  and  maybe  he  can't.  The  old  man 
proposes  to  do  all  the  speculating  for  the  family,  and  there 
will  be  trouble  if  he  has  to  make  good  Will's  losses." 

"  How  about  May  Keating  ?  They  say  the  old  man  —  " 
Their  voices  dropped  and  the  four  young  men  put  their 
heads  together  confidentially. 

"  Beautiful, —  clever  too, —  no  name  for  it, —  not  so 
clever  as  Mrs.  Jack  ? —  I  rather  think  so,  but  in  a  different 

[100] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

way, —  make  a  safer  wife, —  Delaney  —  "  and  here  the  voices 
dropped  to  almost  a  whisper. 

The  entrance  just  then  by  the  rear  door  of  the  three  people 
whose  names  were  being  taken  in  vain  interrupted  the  confi 
dences,  and  the  four  young  men  rose  hastily  to  offer  their  seats. 

With  a  single  glance  Mrs.  Jack  had  taken  in  the  entire 
car  and  the  possible  combinations  it  afforded;  she  saw  the 
vacant  seat  next  to  Will  Ganton,  and  with  the  decision  of  a 
general  on  the  field  of  battle  she  distributed  her  forces  to  the 
best  advantage, —  instead  of  placing  her  sister  beside  Will 
Ganton  she  sat  there  herself. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  telephone  this  afternoon  ? "  were  her 
first  words.  "We  did  not  know  whether  you  would  come 
to-night  or  not." 

"  I  have  not  had  a  moment's  time,"  he  answered  apologet 
ically,  "  I  have  been  tied  up  all  day." 

"What  is  the  matter?  Anything  gone  wrong?"  This 
time  she  looked  at  him  critically,  and  her  quick  eye  saw  that 
evidently  something  had  gone  very  wrong. 

"  No  —  that  is,  not  much,"  he  hesitated,  "just  a  matter  of 
business." 

"  Has  —  "  and  she  bit  her  tongue,  for  she  was  on  the  point 
of  asking  whether  he  had  had  trouble  with  his  father.  Some 
how  Mrs.  Jack  was  haunted  by  the  fear  that  Will  Ganton 
and  his  father  did  not  get  on  well  together,  and  that  any  day 
there  might  be  a  rupture.  The  thought  was  not  pleasant, 
for  what  did  Will  Ganton  amount  to  without  the  millions  of 
old  John  Ganton  ?  Nothing,  less  than  nothing,  in  the  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Jack.  She  had  asked  Delaney,  but  he  knew 
only  what  most  people  knew:  that  as  between  the  two  sons 
Will  was  his  father's  favorite. 

[101] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Changing  the  form  of  her  question,  she  asked  as  if  only 
casually  interested,  "How  is  your  father?" 

"  All  right,  I  guess, —  have  n't  seen  him  for  a  day  or  two," 
was  the  short  response;  but  Mrs.  Jack  felt  relieved,  for  if 
Will  had  not  seen  his  father  for  a  day  or  two  the  immediate 
trouble  could  not  be  in  that  direction. 

"I  have  a  surprise  in  store  for  you,"  and  she  looked  at 
him  dubiously.  "  Mrs.  Range  Salter  and  her  daughter  are 
to  dine  with  us.  The  young  lady  is  not  out,  but  an  exception 
is  made  as  the  dinner  is,  of  course,  quite  informal,  and  I 
told  Mrs.  Salter  you  were  to  be  of  the  party.  Now,  I  shall 
place  you  between  them,  and  I  want  you  to  do  your  best  to 
be  agreeable,  for  I  shall  have  my  hands  full." 

Will  Ganton  made  a  feeble  protest.  "  Could  n't  you 
put  the  mother  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  ?  The  girl  is 
not  half  bad, —  I  dined  with  them  a  few  weeks  ago, —  she  's 
bright,  but  the  mother  —  I  tell  you,  let  Delaney  look  after 
the  mother,"  and  he  brightened  up  at  the  happy  suggestion. 

"  No ;  if  you  have  the  daughter,  you  must  take  the  mother 
with  her,"  said  Mrs.  Jack,  sharply,  a  vague  doubt  arising 
in  her  mind  about  the  wisdom  of  placing  Will  Ganton  beside 
a  young  girl  who  certainly  was  sweet  and  charming,  but  — 
oh,  pshaw !  the  thought  was  ridiculous. 

On  the  Club  porch  Mrs.  Jack  found  some  of  her  guests, 
but  Mrs.  Salter  and  her  daughter  had  not  yet  arrived.  Will 
Ganton  dropped  into  a  chair  by  one  of  the  tables  and  ordered 
a  high-ball, —  "good  and  stiff,"  he  said  to  the  boy.  Two 
or  three  men  seated  at  the  same  table  accepted  his  invita 
tion  to  "have  something,"  and  the  conversation  turned  on 
the  scores,  actual  and  possible  —  mostly  the  possible  —  of  the 
afternoon. 

[102] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

"Bully  good  play,"  one  was  saying. 

"  Could  n't  do  it  again  in  a  thousand  years,"  was  the 
response. 

"Made  the  ninth  hole  in  two  this  afternoon,"  said  little 
McDuffey,  one  of  the  crack  players,  and  he  swelled  up  like 
a  game  bantam. 

"  I  '11  go  you  a  box  of  balls  you  can't  do  it  again,  and  we  '11 
try  it  right  now,"  shouted  Slafter,  who  bet  and  talked  as 
recklessly  as  he  played,  and  who  delighted  in  baiting  little 
McDuffey. 

"  Done.     Wait  until  I  get  my  Scotch-and-soda." 

"  Oh,  if  you  're  going  to  fill  up  on  whiskey  and  soda  the 
bet 's  off.  I  'm  willing  to  bet  against  a  Scotchman  sober, 
but  a  Scotchman  drunk  is  another  proposition."  Slafter 
laughed  so  loud  at  his  own  joke  that  all  at  the  table  joined 
without  knowing  what  they  were  laughing  at. 

"What  did  you  make  it  in  to-day?"  Will  asked  the 
man  next  to  him  by  way  of  manifesting  an  interest  in  the 
current  topic.  He  did  not  know  the  man,  had  never  seen 
him  before,  and  did  not  care  a  rap  what  his  score  was. 

"  Hundred  and  ten,  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  long 
grass  — 

"I  say,"  shouted  Slafter,  "that  will  be  a  bully  match. 
I  '11  back  his  royal  highness  — " 

At  that  moment  the  boy  came  with  the  drinks,  and  the 
identity  of  his  royal  highness  remained  undisclosed,  like 
wise  that  of  his  doughty  opponent. 

Will  Ganton  drank  his  high-ball  because  he  felt  the  need  of 
a  stimulant ;  the  others  drank  as  a  matter  of  habit.  With  the 
next  good  fellow  who  seated  himself  at  the  table  they  would 
all  drink  again,  and  so  on  to  a  condition  of  imperfect  sobriety. 

[103] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

As  Will  left  the  circle  Slafter  was  offering  to  bet  McDuffey 
a  box  of  balls  a  hole  that  he  could  not  beat  an  Irishman  the 
latter  did  not  like.  Little  McDuffey's  sunburnt  face  fired  a 
darker  red  with  indignation  at  the  suggestion,  and  in  his  rage 
he  relapsed  into  broad  Scotch  mixed  with  profanity,  much 
to  the  delight  of  his  tormentor. 

May  Keating  was  talking  with  several  athletic  young 
women.  One  of  them,  a  girl  whose  reddish  brown  hair 
found  an  echoing  note  in  the  color  of  the  Russia  leather 
shoes  beneath  her  short  duck  skirt,  was  just  saying,  viva 
ciously, 

"  I  should  have  given  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  if  he  had 
done  that  to  me." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  exclaimed  another,  whose  heavy  eye 
brows,  almost  meeting  over  her  nose,  gave  her  face  a  strong, 
almost  coarse  look.  "  Who  cares  nowadays  what  a  man  does, 
so  long  as  he  — "  at  that  moment  she  noticed  Will  Ganton 
approaching,  and  stopped  short. 

"I  hope,"  he  said  embarrassed,  "I  do  not  intrude." 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  one. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  young  woman  with  the  dark  eyes 
and  heavy  eyebrows,  regaining  her  assurance.  "We  were 
just  discussing  whether  being  drunk  is  any  excuse  for  a  man 
who  kisses  another  man's  wife." 

"Why  —  that  depends  —  I  suppose  —  "  The  cynical 
coolness  of  the  question  staggered  him  so  he  could  get  no 
farther. 

"Exactly,"  she  continued,  enjoying  his  confusion;  "as 
Mr.  Ganton  says,  it  depends,  of  course,  upon  the  degree 
and  nature  of  the  intoxication.  If  spirituous,  then  he  is 
excusable  from  the  husband's  point  of  view,  but  not  the 

[104] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

wife's;  if  spiritual,  then  from  the  wife's  point  of  view,  but 
not  the  husband's.  But  I  contend  a  woman  would  rather 
have  the  kiss  drunk  than  miss  it  sober;  don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Ganton  ? "  and  her  laugh  had  an  unpleasant  ring 
which  seemed  to  go  with  the  heavy  eyebrows  and  the  mas 
culine  cast  of  her  features.  She  was  one  of  the  brilliant 
young  married  women  of  the  smart  set,  and  Will  Ganton 
dreaded  her  tongue.  It  always  seemed  to  him  she  was 
talking  either  at  or  about  some  one  in  an  uncomfortably 
pointed  way.  Moreover,  she  did  not  care  what  she  said,  and 
every  now  and  then  reduced  a  dinner-table  to  silence  with  a 
remark  which  might  have  challenged  the  attention  of  the 
police  if  uttered  in  public.  She  could  make  most  men  blush, 
and  took  delight  in  doing  so,  yet  every  hostess  seemed  to 
consider  her  an  indispensable  element  in  every  social  func 
tion. 

"People  cannot  talk  sense;  they  are  tired  of  nonsense; 
and  there  is  nothing  but  inde-cence  left,"  she  once  said  to  a 
young  clergyman  who  was  vainly  struggling  to  keep  conver 
sation  within  bounds. 

May  Keating  looked  bored.  She  did  not  care  for  young 
Mrs.  Trelway  or  for  her  manner  of  talking;  not  that  she  ob 
jected  particularly  to  her  reckless  allusions  to  things  com 
monly  supposed  to  be  avoided  in  polite  society,  but  because 
she  did  not  like  the  woman.  Possibly  it  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  she  was  considered  so  very  brilliant,  possibly  because 
she  had  the  faculty  of  carrying  men  by  storm,  and  of  doing 
as  she  pleased  generally, —  but  who  can  divine  the  hidden 
causes  of  feminine  aversions  ?  The  two  young  women  dis 
liked  each  other  so  cordially  they  invariably  sought  one  an 
other's  company. 

[105] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

On  account  of  this  feeling  of  antipathy,  Mrs.  Trelway 
took  especial  delight  in  embarrassing  Will  Ganton  and  mak 
ing  him  appear  at  a  disadvantage. 

"  You  have  n't  answered  my  question,  Mr.  Ganton," 
she  insisted  maliciously.  "  Would  n't  a  woman  rather  have 
the  kiss  — 

"  Really,  Carrie,"  interrupted  May  Keating,  indifferently, 
"don't  you  think  you  are  in  a  better  position  to  answer  that 
question  than  Mr.  Ganton  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  depends,  as  Mr.  Ganton  is  so  fond  of  saying, 
upon  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  experiences.  We  all 
know,"  she  continued  brutally,  "that  he  has  been  drunk  and 
sober  often  enough  to  find  out,  but  perhaps  he  lacks  the 
courage  in  either  state."  Again  she  laughed,  this  time  sneer- 
ingly,  and  Will  Ganton  began  to  feel  ill  at  ease  and  angry. 

"The  question  is  not  the  courage  of  the  man,"  said  May 
Keating  sharply,  "but  the  desire  of  the  woman;  and  I  am 
afraid,  Carrie,  you  are  the  only  one  of  us  who  can  speak  with 
authority." 

"  What  rot!  "  and  the  heavy  eyebrows  drew  a  trifle  nearer 
together.  "  That  sort  of  hypocrisy  makes  life  a  burden ;  in 
another  moment  you  will  all  be  protesting  you  have  never 
been  kissed,  and  don't  want  to  be.  What  do  you  think  of 
these  petit es  demoiselles,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  Are  they  not  charm 
ing  in  their  naivete?  What  a  pity  their  fresh  innocence 
should  be  subjected  to  the  vicious  atmosphere  of  this  de 
praved  Club,  where  they  are  so  sure  to  hear  things  that  will 
shock  them;  or  is  it  possible  they  have  come  to  this  horrid 
place  to  be  shocked  ?  "  and  she  poured  out  a  stream  of  witty 
and  ironical  remarks  which  convulsed  her  companions. 
Even  May  Keating  was  amused;  Will  Ganton  alone  failed 

[106] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

to  see  anything  to  laugh  at,  and  was  sure  that  in  some  way 
he  was  the  butt  of  her  wit. 

As  the  little  group  separated  to  get  ready  for  dinner,  he 
stood  for  a  few  moments  with  May  Keating. 

"  I  can't  see  what  you  all  find  to  laugh  at  in  the  stuff  she 
gets  off,"  he  said  by  way  of  protest. 

"  Oh,  she  has  a  sharp  way  of  putting  things."  The  tone 
of  the  response  exhibited  the  indifference  of  the  young  woman 
to  anything  Mrs.  Trelway  might  say. 

"  Too  infernally  sharp  to  suit  me, —  always  poking  fun  at 
some  one, —  I  don't  like  her,"  and  he  went  on  in  an  injured 
manner  as  if  May  Keating  were  partly  to  blame  for  his  fan 
cied  humiliation. 

"She  was  not  referring  especially  to  you;  she  was  ridi 
culing  us :  could  n't  you  see  that  ?  "  A  slight  accent  of  impa 
tience  could  be  heard  in  her  voice;  there  were  times  when 
Will  Ganton  seemed  positively  dense,  and  that  was  a  trait 
May  Keating  could  not  tolerate,  for  stupidity  grated  upon  her 
nerves  like  the  filing  of  a  saw.  She  sometimes  said  to  her 
sister,  "  I  can't  stand  it, —  I  can't  stand  it ;  I  shall  fly  to 
pieces  some  day, —  I  know  I  shall."  Mrs.  Jack  always  tried 
to  sooth  her  by  dwelling  upon  Will's  good  qualities,  his  un 
failing  good  nature,  his  generosity  and  kindness  of  heart. 

"  Yes,  those  are  the  qualities  that  go  with  stupidity,"  she 
answered  once,  "the  brilliant  man  is  never  good-natured, 
kind,  or  generous  except  by  fits  and  starts.  If  he  were  he 
would  be  commonplace,  and  not  brilliant." 

It  was  when  they  were  in  the  company  of  clever  people 
that  Will  Ganton  showed  to  the  greatest  disadvantage.  He 
was  not  bright,  he  was  not  witty,  and  he  was  neither  well 
read  nor  well  informed.  Writh  his  own  companions  he  was 

[107] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

a  good  fellow  and  well  liked ;  in  society  he  was  considered  a 
trifle  heavy,  and  never,  save  by  accident,  was  he  placed  next 
the  guest  of  the  occasion.  What  a  contrast  between  him  and 
Larry  Delaney,  who  could  rise  or  sink  to  any  level  of  con 
versation  with  facility,  who  could  meet  even  Mrs.  Trelway 
on  her  own  doubtful  footing,  and  come  as  near  reducing  her 
to  silence  as  any  living  being. 

At  dinner  Will  Ganton  had  Mrs.  Range  Salter  on  his 
right  and  her  daughter  on  his  left;  immediately  opposite  were 
Mrs.  Trelway  and  Delaney,  a  combination  he  dreaded. 
When  he  saw  Mrs.  Trelway  take  in  Mrs.  Range  Salter  and 
her  daughter  at  a  glance,  then  look  at  him  and  whisper  some 
thing  to  her  companion  who  nodded  his  head  and  laughed, 
Will  felt  sure  there  were  uncomfortable  moments  in  store 
for  him,  with  May  Keating  too  far  away  to  help. 

Mrs.  Salter  greeted  him  with  marked  cordiality. 

"Wrhy  haven't  you  been  to  see  us,  Mr.  Ganton,"  she 
asked,  with  as  much  of  a  look  of  grieved  resentment  as  her 
round,  plump  face  could  express. 

"  I  have  been  so  —  so  very  busy,"  he  stammered,  suddenly 
remembering  he  had  not  been  near  them  since  their  dinner 
at  the  Club. 

"But  I  have  seen  you  very  often  at  the  Club  with  others," 
she  insisted,  with  an  arch  look.  Mrs.  Range  Salter,  like 
many  short  and  plump  women,  was  apt  to  forget  she  was 
no  longer  a  girl. 

"Why,  mamma,"  interrupted  her  daughter,  "if  Mr. 
Ganton  has  been  busy,  that  is  surely  a  good  excuse."  It  was 
said  so  sweetly,  Will  Ganton  looked  at  her  gratefully  and  felt 
all  the  more  guilty. 

"  I  shall  come  and  see  you  at  once,"  he  said  with  the 
[108] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

emphatic  earnestness  of  a  man  who  knows  he  has  neglected 
a  social  duty. 

"  If  you  really  wish  to  see  us  you  will  have  to  come  very 
soon,  for  we  are  going  away  next  week;"  and  Julia  Salter 
smiled  as  all  young  girls  smile  when  they  talk  of  holiday  trips. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  asked  with  sudden  interest. 

"To  Manchester-by-the-Sea." 

"  For  the  summer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  only  for  August.  Then  perhaps  to  the  White 
Mountains,  though  we  may  come  home  if  papa  cannot  join 
us.  He  says  there  may  be  a  strike,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
and  if  there  is  he  will  have  to  remain  in  Chicago.  Do  you 
think  there  will  be  a  strike,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  "  she  looked  up  at 
him  as  if  he  knew  all  about  the  matter,  and  he  felt  flattered 
at  this  confidence.  "  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  there  won't  be,"  she 
continued,  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  reply,  "  for  papa 
has  taken  no  vacation  for  three  years." 

"  My  father  has  never  taken  one,"  he  said. 

"Never  taken  a  vacation!  "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  wide 
open.  "I  think  that  is  just  awful.  Don't  you  believe  in 
vacations,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  "  and  again  she  looked  up  at  him 
as  if  his  opinion  would  be  quite  conclusive. 

"I  should  say  so.  I  think  a  man  works  better  after  a 
little  play."  He  looked  down  at  her  patronizingly,  as  if  the 
cares  of  the  industrial  state  rested  heavily  on  his  shoulders. 
"  But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  need  a  vacation,  you  do  not 
work,"  he  continued  lightly. 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  ever  so  many  things  to  do.  I  am  busy 
from  morning  to  night ;  ask  mamma.  " 

"What  is  that,  Julia?  "  asked  Mrs.  Salter,  turning  from 
the  man  next  her,  who  was  beginning  to  look  bored. 

[109] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  Mr.  Ganton  thinks  I  have  nothing  to  do,  and  I  told  him 
to  ask  you  if  I  'm  not  busy  from  morning  to  night." 

"You  have  no  idea,  Mr.  Ganton,  how  much  the  dear 
child  does,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Salter,  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  mother  describing  the  merits  of  a  marriageable  daughter; 
and  she  proceeded  to  tell  that  Julia  could  sew  a  little,  cook 
a  little,  and  keep  house.  "  I  believe  in  teaching  young  girls 
how  to  keep  house,  so  they  will  not  be  dependent  on  their 
servants  when  they  are  married." 

He  knew  Mrs.  Trelway  was  taking  in  every  word,  for  Mrs. 
Salter  did  not  lower  her  voice  in  describing  the  accomplish 
ments  of  her  daughter. 

"How  perfectly  delightful!"  Mrs.  Trelway  interrupted 
in  a  clear  loud  voice.  "  What  an  accomplished  wife  Julia  will 
make,  Mrs.  Salter!  Now  if  she  can  only  play  and  sing  a 
little,  and  paint  a  little  and  bind  books,  she  is  a  paragon. 
May,"  she  called  down  the  table,  "you  should  hear  this  list 
of  accomplishments.  Can  you  sew  ?  I  can't  mend  even  my 
own  stockings,  to  say  nothing  of  poor  Billy's  socks." 

Mrs.  Salter  was  furious,  but  she  did  not  quite  know  how 
to  resent  the  cool  impertinence  of  the  young  woman  who 
was  leaning  on  her  elbows  and  playing  with  a  flower  as  care 
lessly  and  indifferently  as  if  her  remarks  were  of  the  most 
casual  nature. 

"Really,"  Carrie  Trelway  continued  in  the  same  tone, 
"I  think  mothers  ought  to  furnish  prospective  suitors  with 
printed  lists  of  their  daughter's  accomplishments,  don't  you, 
Mrs.  Salter  ?  " 

"It  would  be  more  to  the  point  to  furnish  lists  of  their 
disagreeable  qualities,  Mrs.  Trelway,"  was  the  angry  retort. 

"  Why,  yes,  if  not  too  long, —  a  very  happy  thought, —  or, 
[110] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

better  still,  a  list  of  vices.  I  'm  sure  every  man  would  rather 
have  a  list  of  a  woman's  vices  than  of  her  virtues.  Is  n't  that 
true,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  "  Under  the  bold,  straightforward  look 
of  Mrs.  Trelway's  dark  eyes  Will  was  so  confused  he  could 
only  stammer, 

"  It  —  depends  — " 

"  Precisely.  I  agree  with  Mr.  Ganton  perfectly  —  his 
views  are  always  so  interesting,"  she  ran  on  ironically. 

"You  should  have  heard,  May," — May  and  the  entire 
table  had  heard  everything.  "We  all  think  mothers  should 
compile  and  print  a  list  of  their  daughters'  vices  as  well  as 
virtues." 

"With  due  regard  to  postal  regulations,"  interrupted 
Delaney,  softly. 

"And  hand  them  to  prospective  suitors,"  she  continued, 
noticing  Delaney's  remark  only  by  hitting  him  in  the  face 
with  the  flower  in  her  hand. 

"Some  might  never  get  married,  Mrs.  Trelway,  if  that 
custom  were  in  vogue."  Mrs.  Salter  was  still  angry. 

"  I  dare  say, —  but  who  knows  ?  Men  are  such  queer 
creatures,  they  seem  to  prefer  vices  to  virtues.  Take  Mr. 
Salter,  for  instance." 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  leave  Mr.  Salter  out  of  the  discussion, 
Mrs.  Trelway."  Mrs.  Range  Salter's  cheeks  were  getting 
just  a  little  white,  and  Delaney  could  see  an  explosion  was 
imminent. 

"That 's  fair,"  he  interrupted.  "Suppose  you  use  Billy 
by  way  of  illustration.  What  would  he  have  done  if  he  had 
had  —  "  Delaney  hesitated. 

"  If  he  had  had  a  list  of  my  vices,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trel 
way,  coolly,  "  he  would  have  been  more  madly  in  love  than 

[111] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

ever.  As  it  is,  he  loves  me  for  the  few  he  has  discovered.  He 
has  never  tried  to  find  out  my  many  virtues, —  a  man  never 
loves  a  woman  for  her  virtues,"  she  added  with  conviction. 

Julia  Salter  was  listening  with  both  ears  wide  open.  She 
had  often  met  Mrs.  Trelway,  but  had  never  heard  her  talk, 
and  all  these  queer  notions  came  so  much  like  dashes  of  cold 
water  that  she  caught  her  breath  at  every  third  word. 

Slafter,  McDuffey,  and  a  party  of  men  in  red  jackets,  at 
an  adjoining  table,  soon  became  as  boisterous  as  men  usually 
become  under  the  influence  of  golf  and  whiskey.  As  their 
disputes  waxed  warm  and  their  hilarity  ran  high,  Mrs.  Range 
Salter  began  to  have  misgivings  about  her  wisdom  in  permit 
ting  her  daughter  to  dine  at  the  Club.  But  the  daughter  was 
greatly  diverted  by  the  men  in  the  red  coats.  Later,  when 
Slafter  got  up  —  not  without  difficulty  —  and  proposed  the 
health  of  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  room,  she  blushed,  for  she 
felt  sure  he  meant  her,  he  had  looked  so  directly  at  her. 
The  shouts  of  "Hear!  hear!"  which  greeted  the  toast,  and 
her  daughter's  red  cheeks,  quite  convinced  Mrs.  Salter  she 
had  made  a  mistake  in  coming. 

"  How  those  men  act,  Mr.  Ganton ! "  she  exclaimed  appre 
hensively,  "I  do  hope  they  are  not  drunk,"  and  her  round, 
plump  face  betrayed  the  anxiety  she  felt. 

"They  're  all  right,"  he  answered  reassuringly,  "they  're 
a  pretty  noisy  crowd,  but  they  don't  mean  anything." 

"  Who  is  the  man  at  the  head  of  the  table  ?  "  Julia  Salter 
asked,  with  all  the  curiosity  of  a  child,  indicating  Slafter. 

"The  man  who  proposed  your  health?"  Will  asked, 
smiling. 

"  He  did  n't  propose  my  health,"  she  contradicted,  at  the 
same  time  blushing  violently. 

[112] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

"You  know  he  did,"  he  continued  mischievously,  "for  I 
saw  him  look  right  at  you,  and  I  believe  he  nodded  or  some 
thing  of  the  kind." 

"Why,  Mr.  Ganton,  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  How 
you  can  fib, —  mamma  will  hear  you  ! "  By  this  time  she  was 
covered  with  confusion  and  looked  apprehensively  toward 
her  mother.  She  was  talking  across  the  table  to  Mrs.  Trel- 
way,  who  was  saying, 

"  From  my  observation,  the  young  women  of  to-day  know 
more  than  their  mothers  and  nearly  as  much  as  their  fathers." 

"  I  can't  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Trelway,"  said  Mrs.  Salter, 
sharply. 

"  That  is  because  you  are  not  a  young  woman,  Mrs.  Salter. 
Ask  your  daughter,"  was  the  curt  response. 

"There  are  some  things  my  daughter  does  not  discuss." 

"With  her  mother,  perhaps." 

"  With  any  one.  I  wish  you  to  understand,  Mrs.  Trelway — " 
The  dispute  was  becoming  acrimonious,  and  Delaney  again 
hastened  to  intervene. 

"I  quite  agree  with  Mrs.  Salter,"  he  said  diplomatically; 
"  there  are  many  things  young  people  should  not  discuss —  " 

"'Should  not,' — that 's  another  thing,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Trelway.  "Mrs.  Salter  said  they  did  not;  I  say  they  do. 
Suppose  we  submit  the  matter  to  Miss  Julia,  since  she  is  the 
only  one  at  the  table  who  can  tell  us." 

Julia  Salter  was  again  listening  to  the  extraordinary  de 
bate;  she  was  fascinated  by  the  dark,  penetrating  eyes  and 
the  heavy  eyebrows  of  Mrs.  Trelway,  and  felt  sure  she  must 
know  all  about  what  she  was  saying;  and  she  knew  her 
mother  was  so  hopelessly  old-fashioned  and  stupid  about 
many  things. 

[113] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"Does  Miss  Salter  look  as  if  she  were  ignorant  of  any 
thing  ?  "  Mrs.  Trelway  gave  a  quizzical  glance  at  the  young 
girl,  who  again  blushed  violently. 

Delaney  tried  to  divert  his  companion,  and  Mrs.  Salter 
was  about  to  make  a  sharp  rejoinder,  when  the  room  was 
reduced  to  silence  by  Slafter,  who  straggled  to  his  feet  once 
more  with  all  the  audacity  of  his  condition,  and  called  out 
loudly, 

"  Mrs.  Jack,  we  want  to  drink  to  the  health  of  Mr.  Jack. 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Mrs.  Jack  answered, 
"  At  home ;  he  declined  to  come  because  you  men  are  apt  to 
disgrace  yourselves  by  drinking  too  much," 

"  Here  's  to  the  man  who  gets  a  drink 

And  lays  it  on  his  brother; 
May  he  live  and  die  of  old  age, 
And  never  get  another!" 

was  the  maudlin  response  of  Slafter  as  he  waved  his  glass 
high  in  the  air,  spilling  half  its  contents  on  the  red  head  of 
little  McDuffey. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Range  Salter  was  so  nervous  she  could 
not  remain  quiet.  "  Don't  you  think  we  'd  better  go  ?  "  she 
whispered  to  Will  Ganton.  He  felt,  himself,  that  it  would 
be  just  as  well  if  the  dinner  could  be  brought  to  an  end,  and 
apparently  Mrs.  Jack  was  of  the  same  opinion,  for  she  told  the 
waiter  they  would  have  their  coffee  on  the  porch,  and  giving 
the  signal,  they  all  rose  to  leave;  but  they  did  not  escape  a 
parting  shot  from  Slafter  who  called  out, 

"  Here  'sh  to  the  departing  stars  who  leave  ush  to  grope  — 
and  drink  in  darknesh." 

"I  say,  Slafter,"  said  little  McDuffey,  admiringly,  as  he 
[114] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

mopped  the  champagne  off  his  head  with  a  napkin,  "you  're 
a  poet." 

When  on  the  porch  Mrs.  Jack  asked  Delaney  at  the  first 
opportunity, 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Will  to-day  ?  He  is  not  at  all 
like  himself." 

"Lost  some  money  in  the  market,"  Delaney  replied 
laconically. 

"  Very  much  ?  " 

"  No-o.  Forty  or  fifty  thousand,  more  or  less,"  was  the 
evasive  answer. 

"Surely,  he  would  not  feel  that." 

"  He  has  no  money  of  his  own,  and  I  fancy  his  father  is 
down  on  speculation, —  that  is,  on  Will's  speculating." 

Mrs.  Jack's  face  clouded  over.  "  He  ought  to  have  sense 
enough  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  his  father.  What  idiots 
some  men  are!" 

"Will  Ganton  needs  a  clear-headed  wife  to  keep  him 
straight.  The  fact  is,  he  's  not  strong  enough  to  stand  alone, 
and  the  right  sort  of  a  wife  would  make  a  man  of  him."  That 
was  Delaney's  honest  opinion,  and  more  than  once  he  had 
told  Will  Ganton  he  ought  to  marry.  Mrs.  Jack  was  decid 
edly  of  the  same  opinion,  but  she  did  not  want  her  sister  to 
marry  him  if  there  was  any  doubt  about  his  prospects  in 
life.  From  her  point  of  view  it  was  all  well  enough  for  a 
clever  woman  to  marry  a  dull  husband,  provided  the  husband 
had  sufficient  wealth  to  offset  his  stupidity. 

"  Money  is  clever, —  so  very  clever,"  she  often  said. 

On  the  train  going  back  to  the  city  Will  and  May  Keating 
sat  together;  but  they  had  little  to  say.  He  was  moody  and 
she  quiet.  It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and  as  she  pressed  her 

[115] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

face  close  against  the  window-pane  and  looked  out  upon  the 
fields  and  villages  as  they  sped  by,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she 
were  looking  out  upon  another  world,  a  strange  and  unknown 
world.  Though  she  knew  perfectly  each  little  village  flying 
by  in  the  silvery  moonlight,  they  appeared  like  the  ghosts  and 
shadows  of  reality  in  a  land  of  dreams,  her  imagination 
carrying  her  farther  and  farther  away  until  in  her  flight  she 
had  left  the  earth  far  behind.  She  was  half  asleep  and 
really  dreaming,  when  the  sound  of  Will  Ganton's  voice 
rudely  aroused  her. 

"  I  say,  May,  you  're  not  very  talkative  this  evening. 
Perhaps  you  'd  rather  have  some  one  else  sit  here."  This 
was  said  in  a  tone  that  irritated  her  almost  beyond  endurance. 

"  No ;  I  don  't  see  why  you  say  that.  I  was  looking  out 
the  window ;  it  is  a  lovely  night. " 

"  That  may  be,  but  I  can  tell  you  I  have  had  a  deucedly 
disagreeable  evening. " 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  having  a  delightful  time  with 
Julia  Salter." 

"  She  's  all  right  —  mighty  pretty  girl ;  but  I  can't 
stand  that  Mrs.  Trelway." 

"  No,  so  you  said. " 

"  She  thinks  she  is  so  very  clever." 

"She  is  clever." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  it,  unless  making  other  people  mighty 
uncomfortable  is  being  clever."  He  warmed  up  as  he  re 
called  his  injuries. 

She  made  no  answer;  there  was  nothing  to  be  said. 
They  relapsed  into  silence.  The  matter,  however,  followed 
a  devious  path  through  his  brain,  and  he  suddenly  ex 
claimed, 

[116] 


A  Dinner  at  the  Golf  Club 

"  May,  you  ought  to  marry  a  clever  fellow  like  —  like 
Delaney." 

"I  do  not  care  for  Mr.  Delaney."  Her  tone  betrayed  the 
irritation  she  felt. 

"I  don't  mean  Delaney  himself,"  he  hastened  to  add, 
"  but  some  one  as  bright  as  he  is." 

"  Clever  people  are  not  the  easiest  to  get  on  with,  as  you 
might  imagine  from  Mrs.  Trelway's  case." 

"  Gad !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  would  not  be  in  Billy  Trelway's 
shoes  for  a  fortune." 

"  Nor  I  in  the  shoes  of  a  Mrs.  Delaney,"  she  added,  smiling. 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  lent  him  con 
fidence  and  restored  his  good  humor.  For  the  moment  he 
forgot  his  losses,  the  dinner,  and  even  Mrs.  Trelway  with  her 
unflinching  black  eyes  and  heavy  eyebrows ;  he  only  remem 
bered  he  was  seated  by  the  side  of  May  Keating,  and  that 
every  one  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  he  alone  had  the  right 
to  sit  with  her. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  marry  a  man  who  is  not  clever  ?  " 
he  asked  in  a  tone  that  she  knew  implied  more  than  the  mere 
words.  She  hesitated;  she  knew  the  question  would  come 
sooner  or  later,  but  she  had  not  expected  it  in  that  form. 
Yet  it  was  the  very  thing  she  had  been  asking  herself  for  a 
long  time,  "  Can  I  marry  a  man  who  is  not  clever,  who  is,  on 
the  contrary,  dull  and  heavy  ?  Can  I  do  it  ?  "  Suddenly 
she  found  herself  in  a  corner  where  she  must  answer,  and  she 
could  not ;  she  could  not  bring  herself  even  to  say  that  she 
might;  that,  she  knew,  meant  she  would.  Still,  she  knew 
she  should  not  say  no. 

"  Really, " —  she  hardly  knew  how  to  get  out  of  the  pre 
dicament, —  "that  question  will  never  arise." 

[117] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"Yes,  it  will,"  he  doggedly  persisted;   "tell  me,  May,  do 
you  think  you  could  marry  a  man  as  dull  and  stupid  as  — 
he  hesitated,  only  to  blurt  out,  "  as  stupid  as  I  am  ?  " 

There,  he  had  said  it.  He  did  not  look  up  at  her,  but  he 
noticed  she  grasped  the  fan  lying  in  her  lap  so  tightly  that 
she  broke  one  of  the  sticks,  and  he  wondered  what  that 
meant.  It  seemed  a  long  time  before  she  replied, —  so  long 
he  began  to  think  she  had  not  understood,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  asking  again,  when  she  replied  slowly  in  a  low  voice : 

"I  think  I  could." 

"And  that  means  you  will,  May?  "  he  asked  eagerly,  for 
he  began  to  be  filled  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  really 
winning  and  having  as  his  own  the  beautiful  girl  by  his  side. 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  this  time  with  an  accent  of  de 
termination,  as  if  her  mind  was  made  up,  and  there  was  no 
longer  any  use  debating  the  matter. 

When  he  sought  to  look  into  her  eyes  to  confirm  his  hap 
piness,  she  turned  and  once  more  pressed  her  face  against 
the  window;  but  though  the  moon  was  still  gorgeously 
bright,  its  silvery  beams  fell  upon  grim  reality,  the  dirty  streets 
and  alleys,  and  the  wretched  hovels  of  the  outskirts  of  the 
great  city. 


[118] 


CHAPTER   IX 

A  DAUGHTER  OF   JEM  KEATING 

FOR  some  days  Will  Ganton  worked  in  his  hot,  stuffy 
office  at  the  Yards  as  he  had  never  worked  before. 
He  carefully  avoided  his  father,  spending  his  nights  at 
the  Golf  Club.  He  took  an  early  train  into  the  city,  and  fre 
quently  remained  at  his  desk  until  six  or  seven.  He  knew 
that  soon  or  late  he  would  have  to  tell  his  father  about  his 
losses  and  his  indebtedness  to  the  bank,  but  to  his  surprise 
he  found  he  felt  less  hesitation  about  speaking  of  his  financial 
troubles  than  of  his  engagment  to  May  Keating.  He  and 
she  had  agreed  to  keep  the  engagement  secret  for  a  time; 
for  some  reason  she  did  not  care  to  have  it  announced,  and 
he  much  preferred  to  tell  his  father  in  his  own  way ;  though 
why  he  should  hesitate  he  did  not  know,  for  the  question  of 
his  marrying  had  never  been  discussed  by  them.  The  en 
gagement,  however,  was  noised  about, —  not  as  an  admitted 
fact,  but  as  one  well  authenticated.  Mrs.  Jack  took  pains 
to  tell  two  or  three  of  her  intimate  friends,  "  quite  confiden 
tially,"  and  each  of  these  friends  had  her  circle  of  intimates 
who  were  also  pledged  to  strict  secrecy,  so  everybody  knew 
all  about  it  within  a  few  days. 

Browning  was  delighted  with  Will's  devotion  to  duty.  He 
called  him  up  two  or  three  times  a  day,  partly  on  matters  of 
business,  but  also  to  see  if  he  was  still  at  work. 

"  Keep  this  up,"  he  said  one  day,  "  and  your  father  will 
give  you  anything  you  want;  he  is  a  different  man  here  at 
the  office." 

[119] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

That  was  true.  The  reports  that  his  son  was  doing  more 
than  his  share  of  work  so  pleased  old  John  Ganton  that  he 
even  joked  with  the  office-boy  when  he  came  down  mornings, 
and  as  for  Stenographer  No.  13,  when  she  looked  tired  and 
sick  one  hot  afternoon,  he  insisted  she  must  take  a  holiday, 
and  gave  her  tickets  to  Lake  Geneva  for  herself  and  her  mother. 

"  Browning,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  is  all  right.  He  can  work 
if  he  wants  to,  and  he  has  a  good  head  on  him.  The  trouble 
has  been  too  much  society;  it  '11  spoil  any  young  man." 

He  stopped  Allan  Borlan  on  the  street,  and  exclaimed  in 
a  friendly  manner:  "Well,  young  man,  how  are  you  getting 
on  with  your  strike  ?  I  guess  I  spoke  a  little  roughly  the 
other  day." 

"Yes,  you  did,  Mr.  Ganton,"  was  the  firm  response, 
"  and  I  felt  hurt ;  but  I  care  less  about  that  than  about  the 
'act  that  you  and  the  other  packers  are  forcing  this  strike 
on  us  just  because  we  will  not  put  up  money." 

"  Well,  well,  Allan,  you  '11  live,  and  in  time  you  '11  learn 
it 's  better  to  do  as  others  do.  The  world  was  n't  made  in 
a  day,  and  it  can't  be  changed  in  a  minute.  Any  time  you 
care  to  come  in  and  take  your  chance  with  the  rest  of  us, 
I  '11  do  what  I  can  for  you,"  and  the  burly  form  of  the  old 
man  disappeared  up  the  steps  of  the  bank. 

Saturday  night  Will  Ganton  went  home,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  he  met  his  father  at  breakfast. 

"  Well,  young  man,  where  have  you  kept  yourself  lately  ?  " 
was  the  gruff  but  cordial  greeting  as  Will  entered  the  dining- 
room. 

"  At  the  Golf  Club  mostly,  where  it 's  a  little  cooler  than 
in  the  city,"  he  replied. 

[120] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

"  When  I  was  your  age  I  had  no  chance  to  look  about  for 
cool  spots  to  sleep.  The  city  's  cool  enough  for  me  now, 
and  ought  to  be  for  you."  The  old  man  had  little  sympathy 
for  the  tender  sensibilities  of  the  rising  generation.  "  The 
hotter  the  day  the  faster  a  horse  will  trot,  and  the  same  's 
true  of  a  man,"  he  invariably  said  when  any  of  his  employees 
complained  of  the  heat,  adding  sometimes:  "  It 's  all  right  to 
look  out  for  the  cattle,  but  the  men  can  look  out  for  them 
selves.  I  've  had  to  all  my  life." 

"  How  are  things  at  the  Yards  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly,  with 
out  raising  his  eyes  from  the  paper  spread  out  on  the  table 
before  him,  and  at  the  same  time  munching  loudly  a  piece  of 
toast,  and  drinking  his  coffee  with  a  disagreeable  sucking 
noise.  As  far  back  as  Will  could  remember  his  father's 
breakfast  had  been  the  same  —  ham  and  eggs  and  coffee  and 
toast,  with  old-fashioned,  black  buckwheat  cakes  in  the  win 
ter.  Nothing  roused  the  anger  of  John  Ganton  more  than  to 
hear  people  talk  of  coffee  and  rolls  in  the  morning,  and  break 
fast  at  twelve  o'clock.  "That  may  do  for  a  frog-eating 
Frenchman,  but  not  for  an  American  who  does  a  day's  work 
before  the  rest  of  the  world  is  up.  You  might  as  well  try 
to  get  a  head  of  steam  by  feeding  a  boiler  with  a  handful  of 
shavings.  Stoke  a  man  as  you  do  a  furnace  and  you  '11  get 
the  power;  that 's  my  motto." 

"Things  are  rushing.  Is  there  anything  in  this  talk  of 
a  general  strike  ?  "  Will  asked  the  question  in  a  tone  of 
assumed  indifference. 

"Maybe  there  is,  and  maybe  there  is  n't,"  his  father 
chuckled.  "  Borlan  's  tied  up." 

"  Yes,  and  they  say  we  shall  all  be  tied  up  by  the  first  of 
the  month." 

[121] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  Well,  in  what  shape  will  you  be  for  a  tie-up  ?"  The  old 
man  looked  up  shrewdly. 

"  Pretty  good,  if  we  rush  things  for  the  next  two  weeks  as 
we  have  these  last  two." 

"Then  we  don't  care  whether  there  is  a  strike  or  not. 
That  's  the  shape  to  be  in  always,"  he  said,  bringing  his  big 
fist  down  on  the  breakfast-table  so  hard  that  the  dishes 
jumped.  "Never  let  the  factory  stop  when  the  warehouse 
is  empty;  just  keep  that  in  mind,  and  you  won't  go  wrong. 
We  shall  be  ready  for  a  tie-up  in  two  weeks." 

"But  I  thought  you  said  in  May,  when  the  schedules 
were  signed  with  the  unions,  that  there  would  be  no  strike  to 
amount  to  anything  for  a  year." 

"  So  I  did,  so  I  did,  my  boy;  but  conditions  have  changed. 
The  teamsters  propose  to  break  their  agreement,  and  we  want 
them  to.  The  action  of  Austria  has  affected  the  demand 
for  products  so  that  a  shut-down  is  necessary  to  keep  up 
prices." 

"  What  is  an  agreement  with  the  unions  good  for  if  they 
break  it  whenever  they  please  ?  " 

"Not  worth  the  paper  it  is  written  on.  What  is  any 
agreement  good  for  where  one  of  the  parties  is  an  irrespon 
sible  and  unscrupulous  body,  managed  by  a  lot  of  rascals 
ready  to  sell  out  to  the  first  bidder?  What  do  the  unions 
care  for  their  agreements  ?  Not  a  picayune.  All  the  agree 
ment  is  good  for  is  to  enable  the  leaders,  after  we  have  paid 
them  their  price,  to  keep  the  men  in  line  by  talking  about  the 
sanctity  of  the  obligation,  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff.  Then 
the  papers  sing  the  same  tune,  and  praise  the  unions  for 
living  up  to  their  agreements.  Here  's  an  editorial  now 
praising  the  leaders  of  the  teamsters  for  trying  to  hold  their 

[122] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

men  in  line  and  make  them  live  up  to  their  contract  with 
us. 

"Umph!"  the  old  man  snorted;  "these  leaders  will  go 
on  trying  for  two  weeks,  then  they  will  order  the  men  out 
the  day  and  the  minute  we  tell  'em  to,  and  the  papers  will 
print  a  lot  of  twaddle  about  broken  agreements."  The 
old  man  always  read  the  comments  of  the  papers  on  affairs 
at  the  Yards  with  great  interest;  they  amused  him, —  as 
if  the  press  knew  anything  about  what  was  going  on  in  the 
Yards,  in  that  strange  city  within  a  city,  that  city  of  for 
eigners,  of  interests,  of  powers  and  combinations,  of  crime 
and  mystery,  which  the  laws  of  neither  State  nor  Nation 
could  reach.  Out  there  old  John  Ganton  was  more  power 
ful  than  the  mayor,  or  the  governor,  or  the  president;  he 
could  do  things  they  could  not;  and  whenever  he  felt  dis 
posed  he  could  and  did  defy  the  law  of  the  land  with  impunity. 
Every  attempt  to  reduce  the  Yards  to  subjection,  to  investi 
gate  them,  to  check  unlawful  practices,  fell  by  the  wayside 
in  council  chambers  and  legislative  halls,  where  "influences" 
were  felt.  So  the  Yards  flourished  like  the  green  bay-tree, 
unrestrained. 

Will  Ganton  felt  that  if  his  father  had  only  taken  him 
into  his  confidence  a  little  earlier,  he  would  not  have  plunged 
so  heavily  in  the  market.  "All  I  can  say,  father,  is  I  wish 
you  had  told  me  sooner  that  there  might  be  a  strike." 

"  Why  ?  "     The  old  man  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Well,  you  see  —  '  Will  hesitated,  for  it  was  not  easy 
to  tell  about  his  speculations ;  "  you  said  there  would  be  no 
strike,  so  —  so  I  went  into  the  market  a  little." 

"  Been  speculating,  eh  ?  "  This  time  there  was  no  mis 
taking  the  anger  of  the  old  man.  His  voice  lowered  itself 

[123] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

almost  to  a  growl,  and  the  veins  were  turgid  beneath  the 
cleanly  shaven  skin.  "Been  speculating,  eh?"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "  What  have  I  told  you  ?  Have  n't  I  told  you  to 
keep  out  of  the  market  ?  Men  fatten  off  just  such  fools  as 
you  are." 

Will  flushed  at  his  father's  harsh  words.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  making  an  angry  retort,  but  he  bit  his  tongue 
and  kept  silent.  For  a  moment  his  father  glared  at  him. 
Recovering  a  little  from  his  first  burst  of  anger,  he  asked 
gruffly : 

"  How  much  have  you  lost  ?  " 

Will  gave  him  the  figures  and  the  amount  of  his  indebted 
ness  to  the  bank. 

"  So !  And  where  do  you  expect  to  get  the  money  ?  "  The 
tone  was  cutting,  but  the  flash  of  temper  had  subsided. 

"  I  have  no  means  of  raising  it,  unless  you  will  help  me, 
father."  The  accent  of  appeal  was  not  lost  on  John  Ganton, 
and  he  relented. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  for  the  family  that  I  have  made  a 
little  money  in  the  market  the  last  week  or  two,  otherwise  we 
might  find  ourselves  on  the  way  to  the  poor-house.  I  will 
make  good  your  losses  on  certain  conditions,"  he  continued 
sharply;  "  first,  that  you  will  give  me  your  word  not  to  specu 
late  again;  and  second,  that  you  will  give  up  your  room  at 
the  Golf  Club,  and  attend  steadily  to  business  at  the  Yards. 
Is  it  a  bargain?" 

Will  was  only  too  glad  to  make  the  promises;  for  the 
time  being  he  had  lost  all  desire  to  get  rich  quick  in  the 
market.  Giving  up  his  room  at  the  Club  came  a  little 
harder,  for  it  was  pleasant  to  get  away  from  the  city  and 
out  into  the  country  on  summer  evenings  and  hot  nights. 

[124] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

Then,  too,  at  the  Club  he  was  able  to  see  more  of  May 
Keating. 

Not  another  word  was  exchanged  at  the  breakfast-table, 
but  when  they  went  into  the  long  front  room  —  which  the 
architect  on  his  plans  called  "  the  library, "  and  had  filled  with 
as  many  bookcases  as  he  thought  the  character  of  the  room 
required, —  John  Ganton  finished  his  papers;  he  wasted 
no  time  on  news  that  did  not  directly  or  indirectly  affect 
some  of  his  many  interests.  Throwing  the  papers  on  the 
floor,  he  turned  to  Will  and  said  with  as  much  affection  as  he 
ever  displayed : 

"  I  've  been  watching  the  way  you  have  attended  to  busi 
ness  the  last  few  days.  I  was  beginning  to  think  there  was 
nothing  in  you,  and  that  I  could  make  nothing  of  you,  but 
you  are  doing  better.  All  you  need  is  less  clubs  and  less 
society  to  make  a  good  business  man.  Some  day  you  will 
have  to  take  my  place  as  the  head  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  and 
I  want  you  to  be  good  and  ready  when  the  time  comes.  A 
little  fun  at  your  time  of  life  may  be  all  right  now  and  then, — 
though  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  drop  business  for  pleas 
ure;  I  got  my  fun  out  of  my  work, —  but  you  can't  hang 
around  clubs,  play  golf,  dine  out  every  evening,  and  be  fit 
for  business.  You  can't  do  that,  and  I  know  it.  I  have 
seen  too  many  likely  young  fellows  spoiled  by  that  sort  of 
thing.  You  've  got  to  make  your  choice  of  either  work  or 
play,  and  the  mixture  is  weak  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of 
play  it  contains.  This  talk  about  a  certain  amount  of  play 
being  necessary  is  all  bosh,  and  it  encourages  the  idea  that 
work  is  drudgery.  I  tell  you  the  successful  man  finds  his 
pleasure  in  his  work,  and  a  man  can't  be  successful  unless 
he  takes  more  pleasure  in  his  work  than  in  anything  else. 

[125] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

I  can't  make  anything  of  your  brother," — the  old  man's 
voice  rang  bitter, —  "  he  's  no  better  'n  a  bookworm ;  but 
it  is  in  you  to  work  if  you  buckle  to  it." 

Will  had  never  heard  his  father  speak  at  such  length,  and 
he  looked  at  him  in  no  little  astonishment. 

"  One  thing  more,  Will,"  the  old  man  continued,  com 
pressing  his  lips  tightly  as  if  the  subject  were  distasteful; 
"it  doesn't  matter  to  me  what  girl  you  marry,  so  long  as 
she  is  honest.  You  will  have  money  enough  whether  your 
wife  has  any  or  not,  and  I  do  not  propose  to  interfere; 
but  — "  he  paused,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  were  drawn 
still  firmer  —  "  I  hear  you  have  been  seen  a  good  deal  lately 
with  the  Keating  girls,  with  Mrs.  John  Wilton  and  her  sister. 
It  probably  does  n't  mean  anything,  but  I  warn  you  in  time; 
the  less  you  have  to  do  with  them  the  better.  If  any  son 
of  mine  should  marry  a  daughter  of  old  Jem  Keating,  I  'd 
cut  him  off  without  a  cent."  The  old  man's  voice  rose,  and 
once  more  the  veins  of  his  face  swelled  as  if  they  would  burst. 

Will  Ganton  stood  as  if  petrified.  He  had  never  heard  his 
father  speak  of  Jem  Keating,  and  this  bitter  prejudice  was 
a  complete  surprise.  He  had  intended  in  due  course,  after 
proving  his  diligence  at  the  Yards,  to  tell  his  father  of  his 
engagement.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  not  dreamed  of 
objection  or  opposition;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  felt  sure 
his  father  would  be  only  too  glad  to  hear  he  wished  to 
marry  and  settle  down.  What  should  he  do  now  ?  Tell 
his  father?  That  was  out  of  the  question  at  the  moment; 
he  must  wait.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  gather  his 
wits  together,  and  then  he  said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Why,  father,  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  down  on  Mr. 
Keating. " 

[126] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

"Down  on  him  —  down  on  Jem  Keating!"  the  old  man 
snorted,  his  anger  rising  with  each  word.  "  He  's  no  better 
than  a  common  thief;  there  's  not  a  drop  of  honest  blood  in 
him,  or  any  of  his  tribe. " 

"That's  rather  rough  on  the  family,"  Will  protested. 
"  They  are  not  to  blame  for  any  faults  the  father  may  have." 

"  It 's  all  the  same  rotten  blood.  The  son  went  to  the 
devil  long  ago,  and  the  girls  will  go  there  too  in  their  own  way. 
Look  at  the  one  who  married  John  Wilton  for  his  money. 
I  'm  told  she  's  no  better  than  a  common  — 

"Stop,  father!  I  don't  think  it  's  exactly  fair  to  say 
such  things  about  a  woman  behind  her  back. " 

"  If  she  were  here  I  'd  say  it  to  her  face,"  the  old  man 
bellowed ;  "  and  I  don't  want  you  to  stand  up  for  her  or  any 
member  of  the  Keating  family.  The  mother  was  a  decent 
woman,  and  she  cried  herself  to  death.  The  children  are  like 
the  father, —  not  a  decent  hair  on  their  heads.  I  want  you 
to  drop  'em;  I  don't  want  to  hear  of  your  being  seen  with 
'em.  There  are  plenty  of  women  who  will  be  mighty  glad 
to  get  you,"  he  added  grimly,  "  if  not  for  your  own  sake,  then 
because  you  are  the  son  of  John  Ganton.  Just  bear  in 
mind  what  I  say! "  and  he  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him. 

Will  Ganton  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  open  window, 
hopelessly  dejected.  This  bitter  opposition  was  a  bolt  out 
of  the  clear  sky.  He  could  not  remember  that  he  had  ever 
heard  his  father  so  much  as  mention  Jem  Keating's  name; 
but  now  that  fact  struck  him  as  singular.  Both  men  had 
lived  in  Chicago  nearly  all  their  lives,  and  Keating  had  once 
been  prominent  on  the  Board  of  Trade,  though  many  years 
before  he  had  lost  all  his  money.  Of  course  his  father  knew 

[127] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

him,  and  the  fact  that  he  never  spoke  of  him  showed  there 
must  have  been  trouble  some  time  or  other.  It  all  seemed 
clear  enough  now ;  but  what  should  he  do  ?  what  could  he 
do  ?  Any  day  his  father  might  hear  of  the  engagement, — 
what  then?  Will  Ganton  was  afraid  of  his  father;  from 
a  child,  so  long  as  he  could  remember,  he  had  stood  in  awe 
of  the  gruff,  burly,  stern-featured  man  who  said  so  little 
except  when  in  a  violent  passion,  and  of  whom  every  one 
stood  in  terror  —  no,  not  every  one,  for,  oddly  enough,  his 
brother  John  never  seemed  to  fear  their  father,  neither  as  a 
child,  nor  later  as  a  boy  and  a  young  man.  John  had  once 
or  twice  broken  out  in  fits  of  anger,  so  violent  that  they 
seemed  to  awe  every  one  about  him;  but  for  the  most  part 
he  was  silent,  and  apparently  unmoved  by  things  which 
disturbed  others.  "A  sulky  little  brat,"  his  father  said 
during  one  of  the  boy's  fits  of  temper,  and  left  him  alone. 

When  his  mother  entered  the  room  she  saw  something 
was  the  matter,  and  with  all  a  mother's  apprehension  feared 
there  had  been  a  scene  between  Will  and  his  father.  Hasten 
ing  forward,  she  asked  nervously, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Will  ?  " 

"  Nothing  much."     He  tried  to  appear  indifferent. 

"Your  father  was  here.  I  thought  I  heard  his  voice 
'way  up  stairs.  What  is  the  matter  now  ? "  She  laid  her 
thin  hand  gently  on  Will's  shoulder,  and  looked  into  his 
face,  trying  to  read  the  truth.  These  scenes  between  father 
and  son  were  not  frequent,  but  they  never  occurred  without 
filling  her  heart  with  apprehension.  She  feared  some  day 
the  rupture  would  be  open  and  irreparable;  that  her  boy 
might  be  sent  to  some  Western  city,  as  had  been  often  threat 
ened,  where  she  could  not  look  out  for  him  and  care  for  him. 

[128] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

Paying  no  attention  to  his  mother's  question,  he  asked 
abruptly : 

"  Mother,  was  there  ever  any  trouble  between  Mr.  Keat 
ing  and  father?" 

"  Dear  me,  why  do  you  ask  about  that  ?  "  She  dropped 
helplessly  into  a  chair.  "  That  was  a  long  time  ago.  They 
were  once  good  friends, —  dear  me,  how  long  ago  it  seems ! 
John  was  a  baby,  and  Molly  Keating  used  to  come  over. 
What  a  good  woman  she  was, —  we  thought  everything  of 
her  —  " 

"But,"  he  interrupted,  "what  was  the  trouble  between 
father  and  Mr.  Keating  ?  " 

"Dear  me,"  she  repeated  helplessly,  "I  don't  know; 
something  about  business.  You  know  Mr.  Keating  failed 
and  lost  all  his  money.  They  did  say  —  but  I  don't  know. 
I  was  so  sorry  for  them,  they  were  so  poor.  After  she  died 
your  father  would  not  let  me  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
family.  I  have  never  known  the  children  since  they  grew 
up,  but  they  say  the  girls  are  very  beautiful." 

"And  so  they  are,  mother,"  he  exclaimed  enthusiastically. 
"  May  Keating  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  world." 

"  Is  she  ?  I  don't  know.  I  have  not  seen  her  since  she 
was  a  child;  but  of  course  you  know  all  these  fine  people, 
Will.  I  am  glad  you  do,  but "  —  her  tone  became  appre 
hensive  —  "  I  would  be  careful.  Your  father  would  not 
like  it  if  he  heard  you  knew  the  Keating  girls." 

"  That 's  just  it,  mother.  Why  should  he  care  ?  What 
have  the  girls  done  ?  They  are  not  to  blame  for  anything 
the  father  may  have  done." 

"Of  course,  of  course  they  arc  not;  but  your  father  is 
very  much  set  against  them.  He  vrould  not  let  me  see  them 

[129] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

after  their  mother  died.     I  never  dared  disobey  him,  and 
you  —  do  you  know  them  very  well  ?  "   she  asked  anxiously. 

"Why,  yes.  That  is,"  he  stammered,  "I  have  seen 
quite  a  little  of  them." 

"And  was  that  what  your  father  was  angry  about  this 
morning  ?  "  she  asked  with  quick  intuition. 

"Partly.  He  said  some  very  mean  things  about  the 
family.  I  don't  care  about  the  father,  I  don't  know  him;  but 
the  daughters, —  that  's  another  thing.  May  Keating  is  the 
finest  girl  I  ever  met." 

"Why,  Will  dear,  you  are  not  in  love  with  her,  are 
you  ? "  She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  with  so  much 
anxiety  and  so  much  affection  that  he  could  not  hide  the 
truth. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  mother.  You  would  be  in  love  with  her  too 
if  you  knew  her.  Every  one  likes  her,"  he  continued  with 
the  enthusiasm  and  exaggeration  of  a  lover,  "  she  is  so  hand 
some  and  so  clever  —  much  cleverer  than  I  am." 

"  But  your  father  —  what  will  your  father  say  when  he 
hears  of  it  ?  "  she  repeated  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  did  n't  dare  tell  him." 

"No,  no;  you  must  not  tell  him,"  she  interrupted  hur 
riedly.  "He  would  send  you  away.  Perhaps  you  will  get 
over  it,"  she  added  hopefully. 

"  I  am  not  very  apt  to."  He  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  his 
mother's  suggestion.  "  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  her,"  he 
continued. 

The  suggestion  struck  terror  into  his  mother's  timid 
heart;  to  fly  in  the  face  of  her  husband's  absolute  com 
mands  was  something  she  had  never  done. 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  dare  to,  Will." 
[130] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

"  But  you  must  for  my  sake,  mother.  You  must  call  on 
them.  Father  need  not  know." 

"  He  would  be  sure  to  know.  He  knows  everything,  and 
even  if  he  did  n't,  it  would  be  just  as  wrong." 

"They  are  not  to  blame.  They  are  women,  and  you 
liked  their  mother.  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  them  for  my 
sake;  I  want  you  to  know  May  Keating.  You  need  not  go 
right  away,  but  by-and-bye,  in  a  week  or  two.  I  want  to  tell 
them  you  are  coming  to  call.  Will  you  go  ? " 

How  could  she  resist  the  appeal  ?  Besides,  might  it  not 
be  that  her  husband  was  unjust  in  his  prejudice  ?  She 
folded  her  thin  white  hands  helplessly  in  her  lap. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  you  will  go,  mother.  I  said 
you  were  coming  to  see  them.  I  did  not  know  there  was 
any  trouble.  They  expect  you." 

In  the  end  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  yield. 
Mingled  with  her  desire  to  please  Will  was  a  curiosity  to  see 
the  young  woman  he  loved.  In  fact,  she  persuaded  her 
self  that  it  was  her  duty  to  see  and  know  May  Keating, 
even  at  the  risk  of  incurring  her  husband's  anger. 

The  Wiltons  lived  on  the  North  Side,  in  one  of  those 
extraordinary  houses,  so  common  and  conspicuous,  wherein 
the  architect  attempts  to  embody  novel  features  in  what  pur 
ports  to  be  a  more  or  less  exact  copy  of  some  good  original  — 
to  graft  the  nineteenth  century  on  an  earlier. 

Wilton  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  money,  and  Mrs. 
Jack  all  her  ingenuity,  on  this  house  to  make  it  one  of  the 
"sights  of  the  city,"  as  Delaney  irreverently  put  it.  As  a 
girl,  Mrs.  Jack  cherished  the  ambition  to  live  in  a  house  so 
great  that  strangers  would  gaze  at  it;  and  she  was  no  sooner 

[131] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

married  than  she  began  to  talk  about  building  a  house.  The 
modest  rented  place  in  which  they  first  lived  did  not  satisfy 
her  ambition  at  all. 

"I  did  not  marry  you  to  live  in  a  flat,"  she  angrily  ex 
claimed  once  when  they  were  discussing  the  matter. 

"  But,  my  dear  —  '  ^Yilton  urged  mildly,  for  he  soon 
learned  to  dread  his  wife's  outbursts  of  temper. 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  live  here  another  year,"  she  in 
terrupted,  her  face  taking  on  the  unpleasant  expression 
he  had  never  noticed  before  they  were  married,  but 
which  was  far  from  infrequent  after.  So  the  house  was 
built;  he  paying  the  bills,  she  attending  to  all  the  other 
details. 

The  result  justified  the  expectations  of  Mrs.  Jack's 
enthusiastic  admirers;  the  house  was  indeed  a  marvel. 

J.  Bosworth  "Wai worth,  who  lived  next  to  the  Wiltons, 
and  whose  Colonial  house  was  an  excellent  example  of  that 
delightful  type,  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  press,  complaining 
that  people  should  be  permitted  to  erect  such  monuments 
of  ugliness  on  public  thoroughfares ;  but  the  letter  was  care 
fully  edited  before  printed,  and  it  appeared  with  a  picture  of 
J.  Bosworth  Walworth  and  his  own  home  as  a  mild  protest 
against  poor  architecture  in  the  abstract,  but  with  a  glow 
ing  tribute  to  Chicago  architecture  in  general,  and  J.  Bos 
worth  Walworth's  Colonial  house  underlined  as  the  finest 
example  of  its  kind  in  the  country.  Mrs.  Jack  thought  she 
saw  a  flattering  reference  to  her  own  Venetian  palace,  and 
smiled  so  sweetly  on  J.  Bosworth  when  next  they  met,  and 
referred  in  such  complimentary  terms  to  his  literary  skill, 
that,  on  the  whole,  he  was  mighty  glad  his  letter  was  not 
printed  verbatim  et  literatim,  and  even  went  so  far,  under  the 

[  132] 


A  Daughter  of  Jem  Keating 

influence  of  Mrs.  Jack's  permeating  smile,  as  to  compliment 
her  on  the  successful  outcome  of  her  efforts. 

"If  my  house  were  only  half  so  charming  as  yours,  Mr. 
Walworth,"  she  said  modestly. 

"It  is  a  palace  beside  my  poor  hovel,"  he  replied  mag 
nificently. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  say  so !  I  value  the  opinion  of  any 
one  who  writes  as  you  do,"  and  she  gave  him  such  a  look 
from  her  expressive  eyes  that  J.  Bosworth  thanked  his 
lucky  stars  —  and  the  discreet  editor  who  had  revised  his 
communication.  Nevertheless  there  were  moments  when  the 
Venetian  palace  troubled  him,  and  to  his  intimate  friends  he 
said,  "That  style  of  architecture  has  about  as  much  con 
nection  with  America  and  American  civilization  as  a  Hindoo 
pagoda,  and  it  is  as  ugly  and  incongruous  in  Chicago  as  the 
twenty-two  story  Masonic  Temple  would  be  in  Venice." 

Not  content  with  displaying  her  originality  and  inde 
pendence  of  tradition  in  the  matter  of  Byzantine  capitals 
and  Saracenic  colonnades,  Mrs.  Jack,  encouraged  by  her 
complacent  architect  and  a  well-known  Wabash  Avenue 
firm  of  interior  decorators,  chose  a  Louis  Quinze  salon,  an 
Elizabethan  dining-room,  and  a  library  the  wainscoting  of 
which  was  brought  intact  from  an  old  house  at  The  Hague. 
John  Wilton  was  relegated  to  a  den,  the  hangings  of  which 
were  imported  direct  from  Cairo,  together  with  a  smell 
which  no  amount  of  smoking  on  his  part  could  dissipate. 
He  had  been  made  to  understand  he  had  the  privileges  of  the 
Louis  Quinze  salon  only  on  state  occasions,  and  that  he  was 
not  to  take  his  friends  into  the  panelled  library;  therefore, 
when  not  at  the  club,  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  a  room  in 
the  third  story  which,  by  some  lucky  chance,  had  been  over- 

[133] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

looked  by  the  decorators.  He  surreptitiously  installed  a 
billiard  table  and  a  few  comfortable  chairs,  and  spent  many 
an  evening  with  equally  homeless  married  cronies  knocking 
the  balls  about  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  convince  themselves 
they  were  having  a  good  time. 

"I  say,  Jack,"  one  of  them  said  one  evening,  "what's 
the  use  of  putting  your  money  in  a  big  house  like  this  if  you 
have  to  spend  your  time  in  the  attic  ?  " 

"No  use,"  was  the  laconic  response. 

"  Then  why  the  Old  Harry  did  you  do  it  ? " 

"  Could  n't  help  it.     .     .     .     Your  shot." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  let  your  wife  pull  you  about  by 
the  nose,  like  that  ?  " 

"  You  have  met  Mrs.  Jack  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  what 's  the  use  discussing  the  matter  ? 
Your  shot." 

"Well,  I'll  be—" 

"No  doubt." 

"  Why  don't  you  perk  up  and  be  a  man,  run  things  your 
self?" 

"You  know  Mrs.  Jack?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  " 

"Then  what's  the  use?     .     .     .     Your  shot." 

That  was  about  all  his  friends  could  get  out  of  John 
Wilton.  What  he  really  thought  or  how  he  really  felt  no  one 
knew.  Yet  he  seemed  to  enjoy  himself  in  his  quiet  way, 
playing  billiards  up  there  under  the  roof. 


[134] 


CHAPTER  X 

ONE   SUNDAY  AFfERNOON 

THE  day  was  warm,  but  there  was  a  cool  breeze  off  the 
lake  when  Will  Ganton  rang  the  bell  and  was  ad 
mitted  to  the  hall  of  the  "  Mosque  at  Cordova,"  as 
Larry  Delaney  had  christened  the  Wilton  mansion,  to  the 
secret  delight  of  Mrs.  Jack.  He  gave  his  hat  and  stick  into 
the  keeping  of  the  sleek  footman,  whom  he  recognized  as  a 
former  employee  of  the  Club,  whence  he  had  been  discharged 
for  pilfering.  He  wondered  how  the  fellow  happened  to  get 
into  the  service  of  Mrs.  Jack. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  library,  but  he  heard  loud  shouts 
and  childish  laughter  in  the  den  beyond,  where  he  surprised 
Jack  Wilton  and  his  little  boy  in  the  midst  of  a  fierce  pillow- 
fight.  The  covering  had  been  pulled  from  the  divan,  the 
rare  rugs  were  in  disorder,  a  very  antique  Turkish  narghileh 
was  overturned  on  the  floor,  and  at  the  precise  moment 
Harold  had  his  father  down  and  helpless,  pelting  him  with 
Mrs.  Jack's  very  best  pillows. 

"  Dere ! "  he  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "  'oo  are  a  wobber 
and  'oo  are  beaten;  now,  'oo  are  dead,"  and  he  gave  the 
helpless  and  panting  "  wobber  "  a  blow  on  the  head  with  the 
biggest  pillow  he  could  lay  his  little  hands  on.  He  caught 
sight  of  Will  Ganton  and  ran  toward  him,  shouting: 

"  Look,  Mithter  Ganton,  I  've  killed  the  wobber." 

Just  then  the  "  wobber  "  came  to  life  most  unexpectedly, 
and  fired  such  a  volley  of  hot  pillow  shots  at  his  small  as 
sailant  that  the  latter  flew  to  Will  for  refuge. 

[  135  ] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"  Help !  help !  Milliter  Ganton ;  the  wobber  's  turn  to  life ! 
Hit  him!"  and  with  that  both  began  throwing  the  pillows 
back  with  great  zest.  The  battle  raged  fast  and  furious, 
until  a  crash  and  the  sound  of  broken  glass  brought  the 
hostilities  to  a  sudden  pause.  A  flying  pillow  had  brought 
down  a  vase  valued  rather  in  proportion  to  the  fabulous  price 
paid  for  it  than  for  any  obvious  merits. 

Will  Ganton  looked  at  the  fragments  in  dismay,  for  many 
a  time  had  he  heard  Mrs.  Jack  relate  the  marvellous  history 
of  that  vase.  John  Wilton  looked  on  phlegmatically.  He 
never  did  care  for  that  particular  vase;  a  "fake,"  he  once 
called  it,  and  for  three  days  he  and  his  wife  did  not  speak. 

"  What  will  mamma  thay  ?  "  Little  Harold  was  frightened, 
and  his  small  voice  trembled;  he  stood  in  great  awe  of  his 
mother. 

"Never  you  mind,  Major,"  said  his  father  consolingly, 
as  he  drew  the  little  fellow  to  him,  "it  was  n't  your  fault;  I 
did  it.  ...  No,"  he  said,  looking  at  Will  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  "no,  it  was  Mr.  Ganton  who  threw  that  pillow. 
Suppose  you  and  I  go  upstairs,  youngster,  and  leave  him  to 
settle  with  mamma.  .  .  .  Naughty  man,  to  throw  a  pillow 
and  break  mamma's  precious  vase." 

"  Did  'oo  do  it  ?  Mamma  will  scold."  The  little  fellow 
looked  at  Will  as  if  he  were  sorry  for  him. 

"  Mamma  won't  scold  him  as  badly  as  she  would  you  and 
me,  so  let 's  vamoose. "  He  grabbed  up  the  boy  and  disap 
peared  beneath  the  portieres  at  the  rear  of  the  den  before 
Will  could  do  more  than  call  out, 

"  Look  here,  Jack,  you  don't  mean  to  say  - 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  WThat  has 
happened  ?  "  Mrs.  Jack's  face  could  not  conceal  the  anger 

[136] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

she  felt  when  she  saw  the  disorder.  Before  he  could  reply 
she  noticed  the  fragments  of  the  vase;  stepping  forward 
quickly  she  picked  up  a  piece  and  spoke  in  a  tone  of  such 
fury  that  Will  Ganton  was  startled.  He  had  never  before 
seen  her  so  angry.  Her  face  took  on  the  expression  of  some 
vicious  little  animal. 

"Who  did  that?"  she  demanded. 

He  did  not  wonder  the  other  two  had  fled.  He  was  glad 
they  were  out  of  the  room;  the  scene  would  have  been 
unpleasant  had  they  remained. 

"  That 's  some  of  Jack's  work, —  pillow  fighting  with 
Harold  down  here  where  they  know  they  have  no  business 
to  play.  I  '11  see ! "  Her  voice  grew  hard  and  threatening. 

"  I  guess  I  threw  the  pillow  that  hit  the  vase,  Mrs.  Wilton," 
he  interrupted  meekly. 

"  Oh  no,  you  did  n't,  Mr.  Ganton ;  you  need  not  take  the 
responsibility  to  shield  them.  I  've  told  them  often  enough 
not  to  do  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  Anyway,  I  was  in  it,  and  it 's  likely  I  hit  the  vase,  for  I 
was  throwing  that  way." 

With  an  effort  Mrs.  Jack  kept  her  tongue  between  her 
teeth ;  she  realized  she  was  making  an  exhibition  of  herself. 

"  Oh,  never  mind ;  it  can't  be  helped,"  she  exclaimed  with 
an  effort  to  appear  indifferent;  "accidents  will  happen.  .  .  . 
Let  's  go  into  the  library." 

May  Keating  had  spent  part  of  the  morning  writing  a  long 
letter  to  Mrs.  Jarvis  Townsend.  Their  friendship  was  one 
of  those  intimacies  which  often  spring  up  on  short  acquaint 
ance  between  women.  Unlike  in  many  respects,  there  were 
so  many  points  of  contact  and  sympathy  that  they  felt  drawn 

[137] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

to  one  another  from  the  moment  they  met;  the  friendship 
really  began  one  afternoon  at  the  Casino  in  Newport,  when 
Mrs.  Townsend  noticed  the  futility  of  her  husband's  efforts 
to  make  an  impression  upon  the  handsome  Western  girl. 
May  Keating's  delightful  poise  and  perfect  self-possession 
pleased  the  maturer  woman  of  the  world;  she  had  not  the 
slightest  hesitation  about  inviting  her  to  visit  them ;  so  their 
friendship  ripened. 

It  was  not  often  they  wrote  one  another;  Gertrude  Town- 
send  was  a  poor  correspondent.  "  Letters  are  so  ridiculous," 
she  said.  "They  are  of  no  use  except  in  the  divorce  court; 
correspondence  nowadays  leads  to  co-respondents.  The 
telegraph  is  so  much  more  discreet." 

But  now  and  then  a  woman  must  write  —  a  dangerous 
impulse,  as  every  man  knows.  On  this  particular  Sunday 
morning  May  Keating  felt  she  must  talk  with  some  one  — 
some  one  besides  her  sister,  to  whom  she  could  not  tell  every 
thing,  so  she  wrote  in  part  as  follows : 

"You  are  in  Paris;  that  means  you  are  in  another  world. 
The  distance  between  us  cannot  be  measured  in  miles;  you 
have  slipped  out  of  my  sphere,  and  for  the  time  being  are  as 
far  away  as  if  in  some  fairy-land  beyond  the  clouds. 

"I  can  see  you  lazily  sipping  your  coffee  in  your  room 
mornings,  half  bored  with  the  thought  that  the  day  must  be 
spent  somehow  and  somewhere;  that  the  evening  must  be 
passed  with  some  one,  or  two  or  more, —  for  if  with  more  than 
one  it  matters  not  how  many.  I  can  see  you  breakfasting 
at  —  at  —  where  ?  with  —  with  —  whom  ?  I  cannot  see  the 
face  distinctly,  as  the  fortune-teller  says,  but  tall  and  dark, 
I  fancy;  distinguished,  I  am  sure.  Again  I  can  see  you 
driving  in  the  Bois,  slowly  following  the  grand  procession  of 
monde  et  demi-monde,  gazing  listlessly  at  the  same  rouged 

[138] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

faces  and  chic  toilettes  that  appear  in  the  Grande  Alice 
season  after  season.  Whence  come  these  painted  faces  ? 
How  are  their  ranks  recruited  ?  Do  they  never  grow  old  ? 
Do  they  never  die  ?  The  men  one  sees  are  seldom  the  same ; 
they  wither  like  leaves;  they  appear  for  a  season  to  return 
perhaps  never  again.  But  the  women  —  ? 

"  I  can  see  you  dining  at  the  Chateau  Madrid  in  a  secluded 
corner,  at  a  little  table  for  two, —  I  hope  the  blind  god  is  good  to 
you, — with  the  soft  shades  of  the  candles  lighting  up  your  pale, 
fascinating  face.  You  are  resting  your  chin  in  your  hands, 
and  your  elbows  on  the  table  looking  him  —  who  is  he  ?  — 
direct  in  the  eyes,  as  you  are  wont  to  do  when  the  eyes  are 
worth  searching ;  while  he  —  write  me  who  '  he '  is  —  yields 
like  a  dove  to  the  subtle  power  you  exercise  over  all  men  you 
care  to  look  at  twice.  I  can  almost  hear  the  strains  of  the 
weird  Hungarian  dance.  Does  the  big  fellow  in  the  red  coat 
still  walk  to  and  fro  among  the  tables,  playing  his  violin  and 
leading  his  band  of  players  as  if  in  a  dreamy  rapture  ? 

"Could  the  ingenuity  of  man  devise  surroundings  more 
seductive  to  the  weak  soul  of  woman  ?  Has  not  some  one 
called  Paris  Hell's  gateway  ?  If  you  do  not  want  my  imagi 
nation  to  picture  you  as  behaving  worse  than  you  are,  write 
and  tell  me  what  you  are  doing,  and  with  whom  you  are 
driving  and  dining,  for  I  am  bored  to  death.  I  must  have 
some  excitement.  I  feel  like  doing  something  desperate,  and 
were  I  in  Paris  instead  of  Chicago  I  should  be  ready  for  any 
thing  the  Fiend  might  suggest.  Here  the  few  temptations 
there  are  present  themselves  in  a  guise  so  coarse  that  a  taste 
at  all  fastidious  craves  virtue  by  contrast;  no  woman  who 
has  any  respect  for  herself  can  be  tempted  by  daylight ;  gas 
light  is  common,  electricity  impossible  —  only  by  the  flicker 
ing  light  of  softly  shaded  candles,  or  by  the  pale  silvery  rays 
of  the  moon,  or  where  ten  thousand  stars  make  darkness 
visible,  does  the  Devil  walk  abroad  in  his  most  subtle  moods. 
Here  they  ask  a  woman  to  folly  as  one  man  invites  another 
to  take  a  drink. 

[139] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  What  a  school  of  vice  your  Newport  is!  Really  it  is  a 
post-graduate  course  to  that  University  of  Sin,  Paris.  Your 
women  are  all  so  clever;  your  men  such  delightful  fools,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  wear  their  motley  for  your  amusement. 
I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world  to  be  able  to  spend  my 
summers  in  Newport.  But  alas !  what  have  I  to  give  ? 
No  money,  some  reputation, —  but  reputation  is  so  soon 
spent  at  Newport.  How  much  virtue  must  a  woman  really 
squander  to  be  successful  in  your  colony  ?  And  once  gone, 
does  the  paste  substitute  which  passes  current  meet  all  the 
requirements  of  good  society  ?  Tell  me,  that  I  may  decide 
where  to  go  and  what  to  do. 

"  A  question  equally  serious:  Shall  I  marry  for  money  — 
for  a  whole  lot  of  money?  You  know  I  would  not  marry 
for  a  few  thousands,  or  even  for  a  million  or  two  —  I  have 
too  much  sentiment  for  such  a  mercenary  match;  but  every 
sentiment  has  its  price,  and  mine  begins  to  yield  at  the  pros 
pect  of  many  millions.  What  do  you  say  my  price  should  be  ? 
assuming  the  man  to  be  neither  attractive  nor  unattractive, 
neither  good  nor  bad,  neither  clever  nor  hopelessly  stupid, —  a 
negligible  quantity  socially. 

"  If  I  had  my  choice, —  but  then,  I  have  not,  so  what  is  the 
use  of  speculating  ? —  I  must  marry.  Shall  I  marry  for 
money,  and  if  so  for  how  much  ?  Answer  me  quickly  for  the 
opportunity  is  here,  or  rather  will  be  here  for  luncheon,  and 
I  may  have  difficulty  in  staying  the  bans  until  your  reply 
tells  me  what  to  do." 

Adding  a  few  lines  more,  she  folded  the  letter  and  hurried 
down  to  luncheon. 

As  Wilton  came  into  the  dining-room,  he  greeted  Will  as 
cordially  as  if  they  had  not  met  before  that  day. 

"Why,  Ganton,  glad  to  see  you." 

"  You  need  n't  —  '  Mrs.  Jack  interrupted  sharply,  but 
suppressed  the  angry  exclamation  that  rose  to  her  lips.  The 

[140] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

look  she  gave  her  husband  was,  however,  far  from  reassur 
ing;  but  he  gave  Will  an  almost  imperceptible  wink  as  he 
took  his  seat,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  see,  old  fellow,  I  am 
in  for  it,"  and  thereupon  relapsed  into  his  customary  silence, 
this  time  to  his  wife's  disgust.  Strive  as  she  might,  the  con 
versation  lagged. 

Will  Ganton  was  depressed  by  the  unpleasant  interview 
with  his  father.  May  Keating,  \vith  the  uncanny  intuition 
of  a  woman,  divined  that  something  was  wrong,  and  felt  sure 
the  trouble  affected  her;  the  luncheon  was  passing  in  mono 
syllables.  Mrs.  Jack  at  length  lost  patience,  and  exclaimed 
with  some  irritation: 

"  Well,  if  you  people  won't  talk,  but  want  to  eat  like  a  lot 
of  dummies,  you  may  do  so." 

"  It  is  not  the  hour  of  day  for  talking,"  her  sister  answered. 

"Then  why  did  you  ask  Mr.  Ganton  to  luncheon  if  you 
had  nothing  to  say  ?  "  was  the  sharp  and  rather  tactless  re 
joinder. 

"  For  the  pleasure  of  his  company.  It  is  n't  necessary  to 
keep  talking  continually,  is  it, —  Will  ?  "  Strange,  how  hard 
it  was  for  her  to  call  him  by  his  first  name. 

"  By  no  means,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  I  should  be 
sorry  if  you  treated  me  as  company;  besides,"  he  added, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Jack  with  mock  penitence,  "I  am  in  dis 
grace." 

"How  —  what  have  you  been  doing?"  May  Keating 
asked,  looking  up  in  surprise. 

Up  to  that  moment  the  broken  vase  had  not  been  men 
tioned,  Mrs.  Jack  having  carefully  avoided  the  subject. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  he  went  on  apologetically,  "  when  I  came 
in  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  an  awful  battle  between 

[141] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

Harold  and  a  big,  burly,  ugly,  villainous  stage  robber.  I 
immediately  took  a  hand  against  the  robber  and  threw  a 
pillow  which  ought  to  have  killed  him,  but  instead  it  hit  one 
of  Mrs.  Wilton's  most  precious  vases,  and  smashed  it  into 
smithereens.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  talk  with  a  load 
like  that  on  my  conscience  ?  " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  broke  that  iridescent  vase!  " 
Wilton  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  exaggerated  surprise,  mingled 
with  well -feigned  regret. 

"  It 's  all  right  for  you  two  men  to  make  light  of  that  vase, 
but  it  was  the  most  perfect  example  of  its  kind  in  America. 
It  came  from  the  Dampur  collection.  And  you  broke  it," 
Mrs.  Jack  said  threateningly,  turning  to  her  husband ;  "  you 
know  you  did." 

"  My  dear,  Mr.  Ganton  says  he  broke  it,"  Wilton  protested 
meekly. 

"No,  he  didn't,"  she  snapped,  "you  and  Harold  were 
playing  downstairs  and  you  both  know  better.  I  have  half 
a  mind  to  punish  him  for  his  disobedience.  He  is  old  enough 
to  know  better." 

A  look  of  pain  and  anxiety  passed  over  John  Wilton's 
face;  he  feared  his  wife  in  her  anger  might  punish  the  little 
fellow  in  order  to  reach  him,  so  he  hastened  to  say: 

"It  was  not  Harold's  fault,  Sally;  he  did  not  want  to 
play."  That  was  a  fib.  "  I  began  it,  and  just  as  Will  came 
in  I  knocked  the  vase  down." 

"That  sounds  more  like  the  truth,"  she  commented 
sharply. 

"  But  it  is  n't,"  Will  Ganton  protested.  "  I  took  a  hand 
in  the  fight,  myself,  and  have  n't  the  slightest  doubt  I  threw 
the  pillow  that  hit  the  vase." 

[142] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  May  Keating  inter 
rupted  in  a  tone  which  expressed  her  weariness  with  the  dis 
cussion.  "  The  vase  was  broken  accidentally ;  it  is  no  one's 
fault.  Why  not  let  the  matter  drop  ?  " 

"But  they  knew  better  than  to  play,"  Mrs.  Jack  per 
sisted,  as  if  personally  aggrieved. 

"  Suppose  they  did ;  we  all  know  better  than  to  do  many 
things  we  do  do,"  was  the  pointed  rejoinder.  "If  you  say 
much  more  Jack  and  Mr.  Ganton  will  replace  the  vase,  — 
these  unique  examples  are  always  in  the  market,  at  a  price." 

When  her  sister  spoke  in  this  tone  of  scarcely  veiled  irony, 
Mrs.  Jack  was  always  just  a  little  afraid,  so  she  changed  the 
subject. 

When  they  were  alone  in  the  library  after  luncheon,  May 
Keating  scrutinized  Will  Ganton  closely.  A  delightful 
breeze  came  through  the  open  windows,  blowing  the  filmy 
curtains  out  into  the  room;  the  furniture  wore  its  summer 
covering  of  chintz,  the  pattern  of  which  was  rather  loud. 

"What  a  lovely  afternoon,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  out  of  one  of  the  windows. 

"Yes,"  she  assented  shortly,  knowing  perfectly  well  his 
mind  was  no  more  on  the  weather  than  it  had  been  on  the 
luncheon;  but  she  waited  for  him  to  speak.  There  was  a 
long  pause,  during  which  he  fidgeted  about.  Withdrawing 
his  hands  from  his  pockets  he  played  with  the  cord  to  the 
shade,  tying  it  into  many  little  slip-knots,  then  with  a  sharp 
jerk  undoing  them. 

"I  say,  May,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  toward  her,  but 
still  standing  by  the  open  window,  "my  mother  says  she  is 
coming  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Jack  —  very  soon."  She  noticed 
that  he  hesitated  a  little  before  he  said  "very  soon,"  and  she 

[143] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

knew  just  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  present  and  heard  the 
conversation  between  mother  and  son  that  some  objection 
had  been  urged,  that  some  obstacles  had  arisen;  that,  for 
some  reason,  Will  had  difficulty  in  persuading  his  mother  to 
make  this  call.  She  wondered  what  the  trouble  was,  but 
merely  remarked, 

"  You  have  told  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes, —  that  is,  I  have  told  her  that  you  are  the  loveliest 
girl  in  the  world,  and  that  I  love  you."  He  continued  to 
fidget  with  the  curtain  cord.  "  I  have  not  told  her  we  are 
engaged." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Her  tone  was  hard  and  peremptory,  and  he 
felt  confused, —  why  had  he  not  told  his  mother  the  whole 
truth  ?  He  felt  guilty. 

"Well  —  you  see  —  May,"  he  hesitated,  "of  course,  she 
knows  —  she  understands,  so  it  was  n't  necessary*  for  me  to 
say  it  in  so  many  words."  He  brightened  up  at  this 
thought. 

"But  why  did  you  not  tell  your  mother  the  truth  di 
rectly  ?  "  she  insisted,  and  her  tone  seemed  to  him  still 
harsher.  "  Is  there  any  reason  why  she  should  not  know  ?  " 

"Why,  you  see,  we  were  not  going  to  announce  it  for  a 
time." 

"  Not  formally,  no,  to  avoid  a  lot  of  silly  congratulations, 
but  you  seemed  very  glad  to  tell  Jack  and  my  sister." 

"  Of  course  they  ought  to  know." 

"And  most  of  my  friends  know." 

"But  I  haven't  told  them  —  upon  my  honor,  May,  I 
have  not  said  a  word  to  any  one  about  it.  I  can't  imagine 
how  so  many  have  managed  to  find  it  out."  He  looked 
mystified. 

[144] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

A  faint  smile  hovered  about  her  mouth  at  the  earnest 
ness  of  his  protest. 

"They  know  it,  that  is  sufficient;  the  engagement  is  as 
good  as  announced,  and  yet  for  some  reason  you  do  not  tell 
your  mother.  What  is  the  reason  ?  " 

"I  tell  you  she  does  know,  May;  of  course  she  under 
stands." 

"  Does  your  father  also  know  ?  "  she  interrupted  sharply. 

"  No  —  no  —  it  would  never  do  to  tell  him  just  now,"  he 
exclaimed  hurriedly,  his  voice  expressing  his  apprehension 
at  the  mere  suggestion. 

"And  why  not,  pray?  "  she  asked  coldly. 

"  Why,  you  see,  May," — how  often  he  began  his  explana 
tions  with  those  same  words !  they  irritated  her,  —  "  father 
is  very  peculiar.  He  expects  me  to  devote  all  my  time  to 
business,-—  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He  's  down  on  me  for 
playing  the  social  game  so  much." 

"  So  you  do  not  dare  tell  him  you  have  staked  yourself  in 
this  'social  game'  and  lost?"  Her  lips  were  tightly  com 
pressed. 

"  Gad,  that 's  about  it,  May,"  he  said,  relieved  that  she 
should  take  this  view  of  it.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  lost 
some  money  in  the  market  this  last  week,  and  when  I  told 
him  he  came  down  on  me  pretty  hard.  He  made  me  promise 
not  to  speculate,  to  give  up  my  room  at  the  Golf  Club,  not  to 
go  out  so  much, —  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"When  did  all  this  happen?"  she  asked,  wondering  if 
he  was  telling  her  the  whole  truth. 

"  This  morning  I  told  him  about  my  losses." 

"And  you  did  not  dare  tell  him  about  your  gains?  "  she 
asked,  with  an  irony  he  completely  missed. 

[145] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"My  gains?"  he  looked  up  surprised;  "but  I  didn't 
make  any  gains  —  that 's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Yes ;  that  while  you  lost  some  money  —  a  mere  baga 
telle,  I  dare  say  —  you  had  gained  a  wife,  a  prospective 
wife." 

He  did  not  know  whether  she  was  serious  or  making  fun 
of  him,  whether  she  was  angry  or  not,  and  he  was  therefore 
more  than  ever  embarrassed. 

"  I  did  not  dare,  May.  .  .  .  Not  yet;  we  must  wait." 

"  How  long  ? "   she  asked  quickly. 

"  Why,  until  —  until  I  get  into  the  rut  out  at  the  Yards, 
and  show  him  I  mean  business." 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  so  calmly  that  he  congratulated 
himself  on  getting  out  of  an  awkward  predieament.  He 
went  over  and  sat  down  beside  her,  and  attempted  to  take 
her  hand  in  his. 

Drawing  back  quickly,  she  said,  "  Don't  you  think  you 
had  better  sit  over  there  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  May  ?  "  he  asked  in  amazement. 

"Nothing,  only  I  should  feel  embarrassed  if  any  one 
came  in  and  saw  you  sitting  beside  me,  and  trying  to  hold  my 
hand."  She  drawled  her  words,  and  looked  at  him  through 
her  half-closed  eyes  with  an  expression  he  did  not  like. 

"  Oh,  nonsense.     It 's  perfectly  absurd.     They  all  know." 

"But  they  do  not  know  that  you  do  not  dare  tell  even 
your  mother  —  to  say  nothing  of  your  father  —  that  you  are 
willing  to  play  the  lover  here,  but  not  at  home.  These 
things  they  do  not  know,  and  would  not  approve  if  they  did ; 
therefore,  if  you  do  not  at  once  take  that  chair  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  sit  there  myself." 

He  could  see  that  she  meant  what  she  said.  Without 
[146] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

another  word  he  changed  his  seat,  feeling  and  looking  very 
foolish.  At  the  same  time  he  was  dimly  conscious  she  was 
right;  that  until  he  had  the  courage  to  make  their  engage 
ment  known  he  had  no  right  to  ask  favors. 

They  sat  in  silence;  he  hoping  she  would  relent  a  little 
and  say  something,  while  she  looked  bored. 

"I  have  some  letters  to  write,"  she  remarked  at  last, 
"  and  as  we  are  to  meet  later  at  the  Club  for  dinner,  I  will 
ask  you  to  excuse  me.  I  dare  say  you  will  find  Jack  in  his 
billiard  room,  if  you  care  to  go  up." 

Without  waiting  for  his  reply  she  left  the  room.  Angry 
and  chagrined,  he  had  no  desire  to  see  Wilton;  he  stood  a 
few  moments  by  the  window  undecided  what  to  do.  At 
last,  finding  his  hat  and  gloves,  he  hurried  from  the  house. 
He  walked  toward  the  Park,  rapidly  at  first,  more  slowly  as 
his  anger  cooled. 

It  was  so  early  in  the  afternoon  that  comparatively  few 
people  were  out  walking;  hardly  any  one  he  knew. 

On  reaching  the  Park  he  turned  to  the  outer  drive,  follow 
ing  the  broad  concrete  walk  along  the  Lake.  A  host  of  con 
fused  thoughts  chased  through  his  mind. 

Why  had  May  Keating  treated  him  so  ?  he  kept  asking 
himself.  Had  he  not  done  the  best  he  could  ?  What  dif 
ference  did  it  make  whether  he  told  his  father  one  time  or 
another  ?  Had  they  not  agreed  not  to  announce  the  engage 
ment  ?  .  .  And  yet,  every  one  seemed  to  know.  Who 
had  told  ?  What  an  ugly  expression  Mrs.  Jack  had 

when  she  was  angry  over  the  broken  vase,  and  how  sorry  he 
felt  for  John  Wilton  —  how  sorry  every  one  seemed  to  feel 
for  John  Wilton !  He  was  such  a  good  fellow,  so  quiet,  so 
gentle,  so  meek  and  unassuming,  and  so  devoted  to  his  boy. 

[147] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Many  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  it  were  not  for  the 
boy  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jack  would  have  separated  long  ago. 
And  he  knew  all  these  things,  and  yet  he  was  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Jack's  sister,  and  intended  to  marry  her. 

Could  it  be  the  two  sisters  were  at  all  alike?  He  had 
persuaded  himself  May  Keating  was  different  from  her 
sister,  and  had  never  so  much  as  thought  of  her  as  the  daugh 
ter  of  old  Jem  Keating.  That  connection  seemed  altogether 
casual;  yet  the  two  women  were  sisters,  and  daughters  of  the 
one  man.  He  could  see  that  Mrs.  Jack  might  be  as  like  her 
worthless  father  as  a  woman  can  be,  and  still  maintain  her 
self  in  good  society  —  was  it  possible  that  he  was  blind  to 
the  shortcomings  of  the  younger  sister,  or  that  in  the  eyes  of 
others  she,  too,  was  a  daughter,  physically,  mentally,  and 
morally,  of  her  father?  The  thought  was  so  objectionable 
that  he  rejected  it  as  beyond  the  range  of  possibilities;  but 
it  came  back  to  plague  him. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  concrete  which 
divides  the  walk  from  the  stones  that  slope  down  to  the  water ; 
when  he  sat  down  there  was  not  a  soul  in  sight.  His  atti 
tude  betrayed  his  dejection;  as  he  endeavored  to  think  he 
looked  out  upon  the  lake,  his  eyes  unconsciously  following 
a  steamer  disappearing  slowly  in  the  northwest.  While 
he  was  trying  to  concentrate  his  mind  upon  the  problem 
before  him,  some  small  voice  within  was  pertinaciously  say 
ing:  "I  wonder  if  that  steamer  is  bound  for  Milwaukee! 
Yes;  it  must  be.  It  is  an  excursion  steamer.  No." — and  so 
on  endlessly,  as  if  one  branch  of  his  mind  were  thinking  of 
one  thing,  and  another  entirely  occupied  with  something 
else,  both  clamoring  for  his  undivided  attention.  And  that 
was  always  the  way, —  it  was  so  hard  to  think,  to  put  his 

[148] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

mind  on  one  thing  and  keep  it  there,  to  exclude  absolutely 
all  vagrant  thoughts.  The  fate  of  himself  and  May  Keating 
became  somehow  inextricably  mixed  up  with  the  destination 
of  the  receding  steamer:  if  that  was  really  bound  for  Mil 
waukee,  then, —  but  if  it  was  not  .  .  .  how  utterly  ridicu 
lous  !  Once  more  he  looked  down  at  the  stones  at  his  feet, 
and  tried  to  think  whether  the  two  sisters  were  really  alike, 
and  whether  they  resembled  their  father.  Instead  of  coming 
to  a  conclusion  he  noticed  to  his  surprise  that  his  left  glove 
was  split  between  the  first  and  middle  fingers.  This  led  him 
to  examine  the  right  carefully  —  the  gloves  had  been  pur 
chased  only  the  day  before.  "  What  rotten  stuff! "  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  '11  take  them  back  to-morrow,"  and  as  he  put 
them  in  his  pocket,  his  mind  returned  to  the  all-important 
subject,  circling  about  it  endlessly. 

"I  hear  you  are  engaged,  Mr.  Ganton;  permit  me  to 
congratulate  you." 

He  recognized  the  loud,  clear  voice  at  once,  and  turned 
to  find  Mrs.  Trelway  behind  him.  He  felt  embarrassed, — 
as  he  always  did  in  her  presence, —  while  a  faint  smile  played 
about  her  firm  lips,  and  she  looked  him  full  in  the  face  with 
that  bold,  penetrating  look  he  knew  so  well.  Noting  his 
confusion,  she  continued : 

"You  do  not  seem  very  happy,  sitting  here  alone  and 
gazing  moodily  over  the  lake.  You  look  more  like  a  jilted 
lover.  You  —  you  are  not  thinking  of  jumping  in,  are 
you?" 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Trelway  — "  He  was  about  to  attempt  a 
bit  of  sarcasm;  but,  ignoring  his  manner,  she  sat  down 
beside  him  and  continued : 

"After  all,  why  not?  Might  not  the  lake  be  preferable 
[149] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

to  the  sea  of  matrimony  whereon  so  many  risk  and  lose  both 
lives  and  fortunes  ?  Why  do  you  marry,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  Why 
does  any  young  man  with  prospects  in  life  marry  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  keenly,  but  now  her  tone  was  friendly 
and  her  manner  serious. 

"  For  love,  I  suppose,"  he  answered  doubtfully.  "  Most 
men  marry  for  love,  don't  they,  Mrs.  Trelway  P  " 

"In  most  countries,  no.  Why  should  you  marry  the 
first  woman  who  captivates  your  fancy?  Why  not  the 
second,  or  the  third,  or  the  tenth  ?  By  what  mark  do  you 
recognize  the  divinely  chosen  one  ?  If  you  lived  hi  New 
York  or  San  Francisco,  is  it  not  certain  some  other  appointed 
one  would  be  found  at  about  this  period  of  your  life  ?  You 
have  arrived  at  the  age  when  a  man  craves  a  woman  - 
usually  a  good  many;  some  woman  is  sure  to  find  you  in 
this  susceptible  condition,  and  gather  you  as  a  gardener 
plucks  the  fruit  about  to  fall.  Why  drop  into  the  first  apron 
stretched  beneath  you  ?  Why  not  consider  a  prospective 
alliance  for  life  as  coolly,  calmly,  and  soberly  as  you  would 
the  offer  of  a  business  partnership  for  a  few  years  ?  " 

"Then  you  don't  believe  in  love,  Mrs.  Trelway,"  he 
said. 

"Love,  love,  love!"  she  exclaimed  impatiently.  "What 
do  you  know  about  love  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  love  ?  A 
bundle  of  impulses, —  most  of  them  bad.  You  say  you  love  a 
woman ;  you  think  now  you  are  in  love  with  the  one  woman 
destined  from  the  beginning  of  time  to  make  you  happy.  I 
tell  you  the  love  of  the  unmated  man  is  simply  the  natural 
craving  for  woman, —  not  for  a  woman,  but  for  the  sex.  If 
you  had  gone  to  live  elsewhere  years  ago,  do  you  think  you 
would  have  wandered  about  the  earth  disconsolately  in  search 

[150] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

of  your  present  divinity,  or  that  she  would  have  waited  for 
you  to  come  from  the  antipodes  ?  " 

He  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  extravagance  of  her 
speech. 

"  Perhaps  not;  but  I  am  not  in  Europe  or  Asia,  and  here 
there  is  but  one  woman." 

"Oh,  bosh!  There  are  a  dozen,  a  hundred,  who  would 
be  glad  to  get  you;  most  of  them  for  your  money,  possibly 
some  of  them  for  yourself  —  women  are  such  fools." 

"But  I  don't  want  them."  His  tone  expressed  the 
annoyance  he  felt. 

"That  is  because  you  have  not  considered  them.  You 
are  like  a  small  boy  whose  heart  is  set  upon  a  pop-gun,  when 
everybody  knows  he  will  be  just  as  crazy  for  a  drum  a  Kttle 
later.  .  .  .  Don't  you  like  Julia  Salter  ? "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Why,  yes, —  a  lovely  young  girl.  I  like  her  very  much. 
But  why  ?  "  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  if  you  were  left  to  yourself  and  looked  twice,  you 
would  fall  in  love  with  her." 

He  laughed  at  the  suggestion,  but  she  continued: 

"I  could  introduce  you  to  a  dozen  girls,  to  say  nothing 
of  anxious  young  widows,  with  any  one  of  whom  you  would 
be  madly  in  love, —  with  a  little  clever  management.  You 
are  ripe,  and  you  don't  know  it;  somebody  is  about  to  pick 
you,  and  you  don't  know  it,"  she  added,  with  some  of  the 
coarse  frankness  for  which  she  was  notorious. 

He  did  not  like  what  she  said  or  her  manner  of  saying  it. 
Yet  he  did  not  quite  know  how  to  resent  it,  for  he  felt  she 
was  not  trying  to  make  fun  of  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
sure  she  thought  she  was  giving  him  good  advice. 

[151] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"It  is  none  of  my  business,  of  course,"  she  continued; 
"  but  if  I  were  you,  if  I  were  a  young  man  in  your  position, 
I  would  go  about  matrimony  as  I  would  the  purchase  of  a 
horse,  and  get  the  best  I  could  for  my  money;  and"  -  she 
paused  significantly  —  "make  sure  of  the  breed." 

This  time  the  hard,  cold  ring  in  her  voice  was  unpleas 
antly  obtrusive. 

"Perhaps  I  am  stupid,  but  I  can't  look  upon  marriage 
as  I  would  on  a  horse  trade,  Mrs.  Trelway."  He  meant 
by  his  tone  and  words  to  administer  a  cutting  rebuke. 
She  only  laughed  and  looked  at  him  with  her  big  dark 
eyes. 

"Yes;  you  are  stupid,  Mr.  Ganton.  Most  men  are,  but 
you  are  stupider  than  the  average." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  all  the  resentment  he  could 
express. 

"But,  like  most  stupid  men,  you  are  rather  likable,  and 
really  —  "  she  paused  and  held  out  her  hand  -  "  I  do  wish 
you  well."  To  his  surprise  he  found  himself  taking  her  hand 
in  a  most  friendly  grasp.  "If  you  would  only  adopt  the 
horse-trade  policy  it  would  be  so  much  better  in  the  end." 
She  turned  and  walked  away  without  giving  him  an  oppor 
tunity  to  reply. 

He  was  at  a  loss  where  to  go;  he  had  expected  to  spend 
the  afternoon  at  the  Wiltons'  and  go  with  them  to  the  club, 
and  now  he  did  not  care  to  return  home.  He  was  not  in 
the  mood  to  go  to  one  of  his  clubs.  He  even  thought  of 
dropping  out  of  the  dinner, —  if  he  were  only  sure  it  would 
pique  May  Keating,  he  would  do  so.  As  always  happens, 
he  had  reasoned  himself  into  the  attitude  of  the  injured 

[152] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

party,  and  so  wished  to  have  some  revenge  for  the  slight  put 
upon  him. 

In  this  mood  he  called  at  the  Range  Salters',  fully  intend 
ing,  if  they  invited  him  to  dinner,  to  remain, —  or  rather 
to  return,  for  it  was  still  early.  But  the  Salters  were  all  out, 
—  at  least  so  the  sleek-faced  footman  said,  though  the  man 
was  probably  lying.  He  was  sure  the  Salters  had  seen  him 
coming  up  the  steps,  and  he  was  quite  certain  he  saw  Mrs. 
Salter's  round  face  disappear  behind  the  curtain  of  one  of 
the  front  windows.  "  Now  that  it  is  reported  I  am  engaged, 
they  are  not  so  anxious  to  see  me,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
"that  is  where  they  make  their  mistake.  I  may  not  be  so 
much  engaged  after  all,"  and  he  walked  down  the  broad 
steps  of  the  Range  Salter  mansion  feeling  as  if  there  were 
eyes  at  every  window  to  watch  his  discomfiture. 

Now  that  he  was  possessed  with  the  idea  that  somehow 
he  must  find  an  invitation  to  dinner  in  order  to  show  his 
independence  of  Mrs.  Jack  and  her  entire  family,  he  tried 
the  North  wood  Kings',  where  he  had  never  called  in  his 
life,  notwithstanding  several  friendly  and  pressing  invitations. 
But  they  were  out  of  the  city, —  this  time  he  knew  the  foot 
man  was  not  deceiving  him,  for  the  man  came  to  the  door 
in  a  greasy,  shiny  alpaca  coat  and  with  dirty  collar  and 
cuffs ;  besides,  the  steps  were  thick  with  dust,  and  the  papers 
of  several  mornings  were  in  the  corner  of  the  vestibule  where 
the  newsboy  had  thrown  them. 

As  he  crossed  over  to  Rush  Street  the  idea  occurred  to 
him  to  go  and  see  Delaney,  whose  bachelor  quarters  were 
not  far  from  the  water  works. 

A  neat  and  pretty  maid  said  she  thought  Mr.  Delaney 
was  in, —  "Second  floor  front,  if  you  please,  sir." 

[153] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

His  knock  at  the  door  was  repeated  before  it  was  answered 
by  a  loud  "  Come  in."  Entering,  he  found  Delaney  stretched 
at  full  length  on  the  sofa,  apparently  just  awakened  from  an 
afternoon  nap. 

"Why,  Ganton,  is  that  you?"  he  exclaimed,  sitting  up; 
"where  the  deuce  did  you  come  from?  Sit  down,"  and  he 
brushed  the  newspapers  out  of  an  easy-chair. 

Will  Ganton  sat  down,  feeling  not  quite  at  home.  He 
had  been  in  Delaney's  rooms  only  once  before,  one  afternoon 
when  the  latter  served  tea  to  Mrs.  Jack  and  a  few  friends. 
The  truth  was,  he  did  not  know  Larry  Delaney  very  well, — 
no  one  did, —  and  it  struck  him  that  he  might  be  intruding. 

"Sony  to  disturb  you.  I  didn't  know  you  were 
napping." 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't;  how  could  you  ?  I  did  n't  know 
it  myself."  Delaney's  manner  was  so  cordial,  Will  felt  more 
at  ease  and  put  his  hat  on  the  table  beside  him  and  leaned 
back  in  the  comfortable  reclining-chair.  Delaney's  room 
reflected  the  tastes  and  habits  of  its  occupant;  there  were 
shelves  filled  with  books  that  were  thumbed  and  worn,  the 
walls  were  decorated  with  foils  and  masks  and  boxing- 
gloves  which  had  seen  hard  usage,  and  there  were  one  or 
two  emblems  which  Will  did  not  understand  and  which 
Delaney  never  troubled  himself  to  explain.  It  was  singular 
that  every  one  took  it  for  granted  Delaney  was  a  university 
man,  but  no  one  knew  his  alma  mater.  He  never  talked 
about  himself, —  perhaps  because  he  knew  that  the  atmos 
phere  of  mystery  made  him  all  the  more  interesting. 

"Thought  you  were  lunching  at  the  Wiltons',"  he  said 
after  a  pause. 

"So  I  was,"  Will  Ganton  answered  shortly.  Larry 
[154] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

Delaney  did  not  fail  to  note  the  young  man's  manner,  and 
suspected  a  lovers'  quarrel. 

"  It  must  be  hotter  than  blazes  in  the  sun,"  he  remarked 
casually,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject. 

"Yes;  but  there  is  a  cool  breeze  off  the  lake.  I  was 
just  up  through  the  park, —  met  Mrs.  Trelway. " 

"Ah!"  Delaney  appeared  indolently  interested. 

"  She  's  a  queer  woman,"  Will  remarked,  with  emphasis 
on  the  adjective. 

"  Rather  an  interesting  woman.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
Delaney's  manner  was  so  indifferent,  Will  Ganton  was  sur 
prised. 

"I  thought  you  two  were  great  friends." 

"  Not  great  friends,  just  good  —  or  bad  friends,  as  one 
looks  at  it.  A  great  social  philosopher  would  probably  hold 
that  a  man  and  a  woman  may  be  the  best  of  enemies,  but 
never  '  good '  friends.  Goodness  is  a  quality  not  closely 
allied  to  friendship  between  the  sexes." 

This  was  too  deep  for  Will,  for  what  he  did  not  know 
about  philosophy  would  fill  several  volumes,  and  what  he  did 
know  about  women  could  be  compressed  within  the  covers 
of  a  very  small  primer.  Be  it  said  to  his  credit,  he  never 
pretended  to  a  knowledge  he  did  not  possess,  but  if  anything, 
was  rather  too  quick  to  admit  his  ignorance. 

"  She  's  a  queer  talker,  anyway,"  he  remarked  in  a  tone  of 
profound  conviction. 

"  So  few  people  nowadays  say  what  is  in  their  minds  that 
the  frank  expression  of  one's  thoughts  sounds  queer." 

"Gad,  I  should  say  so.  A  few  more  like  her  would 
paralyze  society. " 

"  Or  galvanize  it  out  of  its  moribund  condition  into  life. 
[155] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Who  knows  ?  Society  may  need  a  few  Mrs.  Trelways  to 
get  acquainted  with  itself,  to  see  its  own  smirking  countenance 
as  in  a  mirror,  and  thereby  learn  to  be  and  look  more  natural." 
Delaney  had  dropped  back  on  the  sofa,  and  with  his  legs 
drawn  up  and  crossed  was  looking  at  the  ceiling,  where  he 
detected  a  cobweb  in  process  of  manufacture  near  the  window- 
casing.  "  Mary  Jane  is  a  good  looker,  but  a  poor  duster," 
he  thought  to  himself. 

"For  my  part,  I  don't  care  to  have  my  faults  and  failings 
discussed  at  the  dinner-table,"  Will  Ganton  answered  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  had  passed  through  some  uncomfortable 
experiences. 

Delaney  laughed. 

"If  she  would  pounce  on  you,  then  I  might  see  the  fun 
in  it,"  Will  continued. 

"  We  have  had  our  moments  of  frankness,  —  I  guess  we 
understand  each  other." 

"If  I  had  your  gift  of  repartee,  Larry,  I  would  get  on 
better." 

"Oh  no,  you  wouldn't,"  Delaney  interrupted;  "you'd 
lose  half  the  friends  you  have.  It  is  better  to  take  things 
in  your  good-natured  way  than  to  fight  back.  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  the  Indian  in  women;  they  never  forgive  any 
one  who  beats  them  at  their  own  game.  My  position  is 
not  unlike  that  of  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias;  I  keep  my 
ascendancy  by  terrorizing,  but  may  be  blown  up  at  any 
moment." 

There  was  a  pause;  Delaney  knew  there  was  something 
on  Will's  mind  besides  Mrs.  Trelway,  but  he  was  not  a  little 
startled  when  the  latter  blurted  out, 

"  I  say,  Larry,  you  know  I  am  engaged." 
[156] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

"Yes  — I—" 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  congratulate  you,  of  course,"  was  Delaney's  hearty 
response. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  what  do 
you  think  of  it  ?  Am  I  the  sort  of  man  to  marry  May  Keat 
ing  ?  You  know  them  so  well,  tell  me  what  you  think,  hon 
estly." 

He  spoke  so  earnestly,  so  appealingly,  that  Delaney  for  a 
moment  hardly  knew  how  to  reply.  His  assurance  nearly 
forsook  him;  for  a  second  he  was  on  the  point  of  saying 
frankly,  "  No,  a  thousand  times  no,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are 
not!"  but  recovering  his  self-possession  he  tried  to  evade  a 
direct  answer. 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide;  apparently  you  are,  or  she 
would  not  have  accepted  you." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Will  muttered  doubtfully; 
"mighty  few  women  marry  for  love,  nowadays." 

"  More  than  you  think,"  was  Delaney's  quiet  interjection. 
"To  their  sorrow,  for  the  most  part." 

"  Well,  anyway,  no  woman  is  going  to  marry  me  for  love," 
rejoined  Will  in  a  hopeless  tone. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Delaney  looked  at  his  friend  in  surprise, 
and  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile  when  he  saw  the  utter 
dejection  expressed  in  the  latter's  countenance. 

"  Because  —  because  I  am  the  son  of  John  Ganton,  and 
they  think  I  shall  inherit  some  of  his  millions.  They  may 
get  fooled  on  that  score." 

This  time  Delaney  looked  at  Will  more  keenly  as  he  asked : 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"No  one  will  know  where  father's  money  goes  until  his 
[157] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

will  is  read ;  if  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  cut  me  off  he  wonld 
do  it  in  a  minute." 

"  You  have  no  interest  in  the  business  ?  " 

"  Only  some  stock  he  gave  me,  but  that  has  a  string  to  it ; 
I  could  not  sell  it  without  first  offering  it  to  him  at  a  price 
fixed.  I  say,  Larry,  do  you  think  May  Keating  would  care 
to  marry  me  if  I  were  a  poor  man  ?  " 

"  Well,  frankly  speaking,  my  dear  fellow,  I  do  not  think 
she  is  cut  out  for  the  wife  of  a  poor  man ;  or  rather  if  I  were  a 
poor  man  I  would  not  run  the  risk  of  making  two  people 
unhappy  by  marrying  her.  However,  she  is  a  strange  girl, 
with  more  fine  qualities  than  her  friends  suspect,  and  she 
might  do  anything  with  the  man  she  loved." 

"  I  guess  I  don't  understand  her  very  well,"  Will  remarked 
disconsolately. 

"Then  I  would  advise  you  to  get  acquainted  with  your 
future  wife  before  you  are  married.  Many  a  man  postpones 
this  important  introduction  until  it  is  too  late." 

"  I  say,  Delaney,  how  is  it  you  never  married  ? "  Will 
asked  his  question  so  suddenly  Delaney  was  quite  taken  by 
surprise,  and  made  no  reply.  He  turned  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  on  the  hot  and  dusty  street,  where  the  worn  and 
rotten  wooden  block  pavement  made  it  rough  going  for  a 
carette  that  was  passing  north :  by  a  freak  of  fancy  the  street 
changed  to  a  broad  boulevard,  well  paved  and  lined  with  trees, 
the  lumbering  vehicle  to  a  victoria,  the  limping  horses  to  a 
team  of  spirited  bays,  the  fat  and  round-shouldered  driver 
with  his  battered  hat  to  coachman  and  footman  in  spotless 
livery,  those  within  to  —  He  looked  but  he  could  not  quite 
make  out  who  were  in  the  carette,  but  the  features  of  the 
woman  in  the  victoria  were  familiar,  very  familiar  indeed. 

[158] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

How  singular  he  should  recall  this  scene  so  vividly ;  he  thought 
he  had  quite  forgotten!  There  he  was  in  Chicago,  looking 
out  upon  Rush  Street  from  the  second-story  window  of  an  old 
red  brick  house,  while  by  some  subtle  psychological  process 
the  reality  before  his  eyes  was  transformed  to  quite  another 
scene.  As  the  rumbling  vehicle  disappeared,  the  victoria, 
with  its  men  in  livery,  and  the  woman  whose  features  he  so 
well  recalled,  also  vanished,  and  only  the  street  with  its  rotten 
pavement  and  swirls  of  dust  remained. 

"  I  say,  Delaney  —  "  Will  Ganton  repeated. 

"Yes;  I  know,"  Delaney  interrupted  with  a  trace  of 
impatience,  "you  were  asking  why  I  never  married.  That 
is  a  long  story,  too  long  and  boresome  for  a  hot  afternoon." 

"  Gad,  I  half  believe  you  Ve  been  married,"  Will  ex 
claimed,  with  a  sudden  suspicion  that  his  friend  had  been 
keeping  it  secret. 

"I  wish  I  were,"  Delaney  responded  evasively,  but  with 
an  appearance  of  frankness  quite  disarming;  "for  then  I 
should  not  be  keeping  bachelor  quarters  in  this  miserable 
hole.  Let 's  go  for  a  walk.  I  have  not  been  out  of  the  house 
to-day." 

But  Will  Ganton  did  not  care  to  walk.  He  knew  they 
would  be  certain  to  meet  some  of  their  friends  on  the  lake 
front  or  in  the  Park,  and  he  was  not  in  the  mood.  So  he  left 
Delaney  at  the  door,  and  went  down  to  the  Club,  where  he 
found  two  or  three  acquaintances  with  whom  he  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  afternoon  talking  and  drinking. 

When  May  Keating  went  to  her  room  she  threw  herself 
down  in  a  chair  by  the  window,  angry  with  Will  Ganton  and 
angry  with  herself  for  being  angry  with  him.  She  began  to 

[159] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

feel  she  had  acted  impulsively  and  foolishly,  like  a  young 
girl  in  love,  like  a  hot-headed  child,  —  after  all,  what  did  it 
matter  to  her  whether  he  told  his  parents  at  one  time  or 
another  ? 

She  sighed  wearily  and  looked  out  of  the  window;  she 
knew  she  ought  to  go  back  to  the  library,  but  she  did  not. 
She  watched  Will  Ganton  go  down  the  steps,  and  she  felt 
that  it  was  all  a  blunder  on  her  part,  and  that  for  once  she 
had  not  played  her  cards  well.  But  the  truth  was,  the 
luncheon  had  bored  her  beyond  endurance.  To  see  him  sit 
at  the  table  eating  as  stolidly  as  if  they  were  already  married 
and  in  their  own  house  irritated  her:  could  she  stand  it  day 
after  day  and  year  after  year?  For  that  sort  of  humdrum 
domesticity  she  was  not  cut  out.  She  noticed  that  he  bolted 
his  glass  of  water  in  great  gulps,  and  swallowed  his  claret  as 
if  it  were  beer;  that  his  hands  were  large  and  his  finger  nails 
short  and  stubby, —  and  she  wondered  why  she  had  never 
before  seen  those  short  and  stubby  finger  nails,  and  could  not 
help  recalling  Delaney's  small  but  very  strong  hand,  the 
slender  fingers,  and  perfect  finger  nails.  Blood  tells;  the 
blood  of  the  butcher,  of  old  John  Ganton,  versus  the  blood 
of  the  —  adventurer;  for  who  knew  anything  about  Delaney's 
antecedents  ? 

She  noticed  how  he  grasped  his  fork,  how  firmly  he  held 
his  knife  far  down  the  blade,  and  how  brutally  he  used  them 
both  —  as  if  they  were  the  implements  of  his  trade.  He  ate 
so  rapidly  and  so  heartily;  as  if  the  luncheon,  the  food,  the 
satisfaction  of  hunger,  were  all  he  had  come  for.  What 
possessed  her  to  suddenly  note  all  these  things,  to  his  dis 
advantage  ?  They  had  lunched  and  dined  at  the  same  table 
a  hundred  times,  and  he  had  not  struck  her  as  essentially 

[160] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

different  from  most  men ;  but  now  —  what  had  come  over 
her  ?  Was  it  the  letter  she  had  written  Gertrude  Townsend  ? 
Was  it  the  thought  of  Paris  with  its  thousand  and  one  de 
lightful  places  where  people  meet  to  make  love  under  pretence 
of  eating  ?  She  could  not  tell,  but  this  was  one  of  the  days 
when  Chicago  and  all  its  people  seemed  to  her  crude  beyond 
endurance;  when  she  longed  to  get  away,  somewhere,  any 
where,  even  into  the  country,  where  she  would  see  no  one. 

She  was  subject  to  these  moods;  there  were  times  when 
life  about  her  pressed  with  such  exasperating  familiarity  that 
she  thought  she  would  go  wild.  She  had  even  walked  beside 
the  Lake  wondering  if  it  would  not  be  better  to  throw  herself 
in  and  end  everything  —  at  times  this  idea  had  seized  her  so 
strongly  she  would  draw  back  startled  at  the  almost  over 
whelming  force  of  the  secret  suggestion.  What  had  she  to 
to  live  for  ?  What  promise  of  happiness  did  the  future  hold 
out  ?  None,  absolutely  none :  merely  marriage  with  a  man 
she  did  not  love,  for  the  sake  of  money  she  did  not  care  for. 
Unlike  her  sister,  she  was  not  dependent  upon  money;  she 
could  marry  a  poor  man  for  love ;  she  could  have  married  — 
but  what  was  the  use  of  thinking  of  that ;  the  dream  of  a  sum 
mer  ?  Unlocking  a  small  drawer  in  her  secretary,  she  took 
out  three  or  four  unmounted  photographs,  small  prints  of 
snap-shots  made  at  the  seashore,  and  as  she  looked  at  the 
groups  caught  in  holiday  mood,  at  herself  seated  on  the  sand 
beside  a  young  man  whose  fine  features  betrayed  no  line  of 
coarseness  or  vulgarity,  she  recalled  those  precious  hours 
which  sped  so  swiftly  by  —  fleeting  seconds  never,  never  to  be 
revived,  and  her  eyes  were  wet  with  tears.  Hastily  locking 
the  photographs  in  the  little  drawer,  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  couch  and  sobbed  like  a  school-girl. 

[161] 


Ganton  &  Co 

Later,  when  Mrs.  Jack  found  that  Will  Ganton  had  left  the 
house,  she  went  to  her  sister's  room,  feeling  sure  there  had  been 
a  quarrel  of  some  kind.  It  was  only  after  a  series  of  search 
ing  questions  that  she  learned  the  truth.  She  looked  at  her 
sister,  and  said  in  a  tone  that  did  not  disguise  her  exasperation, 

"May  Keating,  you  are  a  fool!" 

"Perhaps  I  am;  most  women  are  fools.' 

"Here  you  are  engaged  to  Will  Ganton,  the  son  of  the 
richest  man  in  Chicago,  and  you  quarrel  with  him  because 
he  has  not  told  his  father  quite  as  soon  as  you  think  the  pro 
prieties  require.  You  are  a  fool ! "  Mrs.  Jack's  anger  was 
rapidly  rising. 

"There  is  no  use  scolding  about  the  matter,  Sally."  May 
Heating's  nerves  were  already  at  breaking  tension.  "  I  just 
could  not  help  it ;  he  irritated  me  so  I  could  not  stand  it,  and 
when  he  as  much  as  said  he  did  not  dare  tell  his  father,  it  was 
the  last  straw.  Why  should  he  be  afraid  to  tell  his  father  ? 
What  right  would  John  Ganton  have  to  raise  any  objection  ? 
Are  we  not  as  good  as  he  is  —  a  common  — " 

She  was  excited;  her  hands  played  nervously  with  the 
covering  of  her  chair.  She  was  becoming  hysterical;  an 
unusual  thing  for  one  ordinarily  so  self-possessed.  Yet  Mrs. 
Jack  had  known  her  sister  to  walk  the  floor  many  a  night  in 
the  effort  to  quiet  her  overwrought  nerves,  and  she  hastened 
to  say  soothingly: 

"Never  mind,  dearie,  it  will  all  come  right  in  the  end. 
You  will  see  him  at  dinner  to-night." 

"I  don't  want  to  see  him  —  I  don't  want  to  see  him," 
she  repeated,  as  she  bent  forward  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  "I  can't  marry  him,  Sally, —  what  is  the  use? 
I  can't  marry  him,  that  is  all  there  is  about  it." 

[162] 


One  Sunday  Afternoon 

Dismayed  at  her  sister's  tone  of  desperation,  Mrs.  Jack 
put  her  arm  about  May's  neck,  whispering  softly : 

"  There,  there ;  don't  think  anything  more  about  it  now. 
You  don't  have  to  marry  him  to-day ;  there  is  plenty  of  time. 
You  are  tired  and  nervous;  lie  down  and  rest  a  while." 

After  persuading  her  sister  to  take  off  her  dress  and  lie 
down,  Mrs.  Jack  left  the  room  quietly.  But  May  Keating 
did  not  go  to  sleep,  and  there  was  no  use  trying.  Whenever 
she  closed  her  eyes  all  she  could  see  was  the  burly  figure  and 
round,  red  face  of  old  John  Ganton,  with  his  sharp  eyes,  his 
big  nose,  and  thick  lips.  Yes;  Will  Ganton  would  look  like 
him  in  time.  He  would  be  big  and  burly,  and  his  face  would 
take  on  that  look  of  brutal  animal  strength;  but  his  eyes 
were  not  the  same.  They  were  softer  and  milder,  and  his 
mouth  was  weak;  yes,  any  one  could  see  he  had  a  weak 
mouth.  He  must  have  inherited  his  eyes  and  mouth  from 
his  mother,  for  there  was  nothing  weak  about  his  father's 
face.  Men  feared  the  father,  but  who  would  fear  the  son  ? 
Who  could  ever  stand  in  awe  of  Will  Ganton  ? 

She  found  herself  asking  these  questions,  repeating  them 
over  and  over,  chasing  the  same  thoughts  around  in  a  circle 
with  her  eyes  closed  until  she  really  did  doze  off.  Father 
and  son  became  so  confused  in  her  mind  that  she  thought 
she  had  promised  to  marry  the  former;  and  she  could  see 
his  sharp  eyes  looking  straight  at  her;  his  thick  lips  laughing 
ironically,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Well,  my  girl,  how  do  you 
like  me  for  a  husband  ?  "  Oddly  enough  she  felt  no  repug 
nance  at  the  thought,  for  there  was  something  fascinating 
about  the  brutal  strength  of  the  coarse  features,  and  the  power 
of  the  man  appealed  to  her.  She  felt  relieved  to  think  that 
after  all  it  was  the  father  she  was  to  marry,  and  not  the  son. 

[163] 


Ganton  &;  Co. 

.  .  .  On  a  sudden  the  expression  of  the  old  man  changed ; 
his  face  became  purple  with  rage,  he  turned  upon  her  as  if 
to  strike  her,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  big  lips  parted  as  with  an 
oath,  and  —  With  a  cry  of  terror  she  jumped  up. 

She  did  not  know  John  Ganton,  and  had  never  seen  him 
except  at  a  distance.  Was  it  possible  that  this  vision  of 
hatred  and  rage  was  some  subtle  reflection  from  the  weak 
face  of  the  son  ?  How  could  she  have  imagined  it  ?  Where 
could  she  have  seen  it  ? 


[164] 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  GLASS  OF  WINE 

ONE  Sunday  afternoon,  if  pleasant,  is  very  much  like 
another  at  the  Park  Club  during  the  summer:  the  same 
young  men  playing  tennis  or  boating ;  the  same  young 
people  sitting  about  on  the  verandas  and  lawn,  saying,  no 
doubt,  much  the  same  things, —  there  is  so  little  originality 
about  a  club.  Club  conduct  is  substantially  the  same  the 
world  over, — threadbare  subjects  and  threadbare  reputations, 
threadbare  friendships  and  threadbare  loves,  threadbare 
engagements  and  threadbare  marriages,  threadbare  differ 
ences  and  threadbare  divorces, —  the  very  atmosphere  ex 
hausted  and  stale. 

At  each  of  the  dozen  or  more  tables,  groups  of  young 
people  were  seated,  drinking  different  concoctions;  few  be 
cause  they  were  thirsty,  more  from  habit  or  weak  submis 
sion  to  idiotic  custom. 

The  tables  were  sloppy,  and  here  and  there  pieces  of  lemon 
peel  and  bent  and  broken  straws  betrayed  the  carelessness 
of  the  waiters. 

"  How  perfectly  lovely  the  lake  is  to-day." 

"Beautiful  day." 

"Chicago  is  a  great  summer  resort." 

"  I  rather  guess  —  New  York  is  not  in  it.  I  was  down 
there  last  week;  hotter  than  blazes." 

"  Well,  it  was  hot  here  last  week." 

"  Never  lasts  more  than  three  days,  though." 

"That 's  right;  the  lake  breeze  helps  out." 
[165] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  Whose  yacht  is  that  ?  " 

"Axford's." 

"  No;  I  mean  the  one  — 

"Strikes  me  the  water  is  pretty  cold  for  bathing." 

"  Oh,  they  go  in  every  Sunday  afternoon." 

"  When  the  crowd  is  here  to  see  them  ?  " 

"That  's  about  it." 

"She's  the  limit." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  She  's  —  "     The  voices  fell. 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Who  brought  her  here  ?  There  will 
be  a  row  if  Mrs.  - 

"  Have  another  drink  ?  " 

"  Seltzer  lemonade  for  me  this  time, —  too  hot  for  any 
thing  stronger." 

"High-ball." 

"Waiter,  three  high-balls  and  a  lemonade." 

"  What  machine  you  driving  now  ?  " 

And  so  on,  —  such  the  stereotyped  remarks,  the  current 
coin,  the  small  change  of  conversation. 

"Whose  boat  is  that  ahead  ?  "  exclaimed  a  young  woman 
in  pink,  pointing  eagerly  to  the  small  yachts  scudding  along 
under  the  fresh  breeze. 

"Don't  know,"  said  her  companion,  sucking  away  at  the 
straws  in  his  glass.  "Looks  like  Smithers's." 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  he  '11  win,"  the  young  woman  in  pink 
exclaimed  enthusiastically  —  and  immediately  forgot  all 
about  the  yacht  race  and  Smithers's  fate. 

At  another  table  they  were  discussing  the  prospects  of  an 
engagement  between  two  young  people  who  had  been  seen 
at  the  Club  three  successive  Saturday  afternoons. 

[166] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

"  She  could  n't  do  better,"  was  the  charitable  remark 
of  one  of  the  young  women. 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  She  's  a  stunning  girl," 
replied  one  of  the  young  men. 

"  Stunning  ?  Well,  I  can't  see  where  that  comes  in," —  the 
young  woman  turned  up  her  nose  at  the  thought ;  "  if  a  girl 
dresses  loud  and  talks  slangy  you  all  call  her  stunning." 

"  I  guess  it  '11  make  a  match  all  right  enough,"  the  young 
fellow  remarked,  as  he  tipped  back  his  chair  and  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pockets. 

Some  one  called  to  one  of  the  waiters  and  asked : 

"  Who  are  going  to  dine  here  this  evening,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"I  can't  just  say,  sir;  there  are  several  parties.  lean 
find  out,  sir." 

"Find  out  who  has  the  corner  table." 

In  a  moment  the  man  returned:  "That  is  Mrs.  Wilton's 
table,  sir." 

Whereupon  this  particular  group  fell  to  discussing  Mrs. 
Jack  in  terms  which  must  have  made  one  of  her  ears  burn 
fiercely. 

"  I  '11  bet  a  penny  Jack  is  not  of  the  party,"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  men,  and  they  all  laughed. 

"He  's  a  rattling  good  fellow,  too,"  said  another. 

"  Just  a  trifle  heavy." 

"Well,  I  can't  understand  how  he  tolerates  some  things 
that  go  on  under  his  very  nose,"  remarked  a  sharp-faced 
young  matron. 

"  They  say  May  has  landed  Will  Ganton  at  last, —  they  are 
really  engaged,"  said  the  young  man  who  had  inquired  about 
the  table. 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  it,"  spoke  up  the  sharp-faced 
[167] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

young  matron;  "he  wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  marry 
her." 

"  Strikes  me  it 's  the  other  way, —  she  is  too  deucedly 
clever  to  marry  him." 

"She  'd  be  glad  enough  to  get  him  for  his  money." 

People  came  and  went, —  more  women  than  men,  for 
many  of  the  latter  were  at  the  country  clubs  playing  golf. 
Everybody  looked  up  as  each  newcomer  made  his  or  her 
appearance,  and  conversation  at  each  of  the  small  round 
tables  immediately  shifted  to  the  newly  arrived, —  which 
was  a  large  part  of  the  amusement  of  the  afternoon.  There 
was,  in  fact,  little  else  to  do  for  those  who  did  not  play  tennis 
or  go  on  the  water;  no  one  ever  thought  of  reading,  thinking, 
or  just  sitting  still  in  the  presence  of  the  restless  Lake,  over 
which  lights  and  shadows  in  endless  variety  played  from  hour 
to  hour,  and  the  surface  of  which  reflected  a  thousand  iri 
descent  hues. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Jack  and  her  sister 
drove  up  in  a  victoria,  with  coachman  and  footman  in  spot 
less  and  somewhat  conspicuous  liver}7.  The  two  sisters  were 
dressed  in  white,  but  while  May  Keating  carried  a  white  par 
asol,  Mrs.  Jack's  was  of  a  brilliant  red. 

"  One  can  tell  Mrs.  Jack  a  mile  off,"  said  the  sharp-faced 
young  matron. 

"Rather  a  striking  turn-out,"  some  one  remarked. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  horses  ?  "  another  woman  said  in 
an  envious  tone. 

"  Tries  to  be  conspicuous,"  said  another,  whose  one  man 
not  only  served  as  coachman,  caring  for  two  horses  and  the 
stable,  but  also  cleaned  floors,  rugs,  and  wirfflows,  swept 
walks,  took  care  of  the  furnace,  and  froze  the  ice-cream 

[168] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

Sundays,  besides  attending  door  in  a  second-hand  swallow- 
tailed  coat  whenever  his  services  were  required.  As  most 
of  Mrs.  Jack's  acquaintances  relied  upon  one  such  general 
utility  man,  they  were  accordingly  envious  of  her  extrava 
gance  and  love  of  display ;  few  had  two  men  on  the  box,  and 
most  of  these  dressed  up  their  stable-boys  or  housemen  to 
serve  as  footmen.  It  was  therefore  impossible  to  tell  in  many 
a  household  whether  the  dinner  was  being  served  by  a  stable- 
hand,  or  the  carriage  door  opened  by  the  butler,  with  the 
chances  in  favor  of  both  alternatives. 

The  afternoon  at  the  Club  down  town  had  materially 
raised  the  spirits  of  Will  Ganton,  so  that  when  he  drove  up  in 
a  cab  a  little  before  seven,  he  met  May  Keating  very  much  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred. 

Delaney  not  only  considered  it  good  policy  from  his  own 
point  of  view  to  aid  Mrs.  Jack  in  making  this  match,  but, 
on  the  whole,  he  believed  it  a  good  thing  for  the  two  people 
immediately  concerned.  Would  not  everybody  say  May 
Keating  had  made  a  great  catch,  and  that  Will  Ganton  was 
lucky  to  get  so  clever  and  handsome  a  girl  ? 

Leaving  Will  Ganton  with  Mrs.  Jack,  who  was  already 
surrounded  by  a  throng  of  gallant  admirers,  Delaney  and  May 
walked  slowly  across  the  lawn  to  the  far  side  of  the  grounds. 
The  tennis-courts  were  now  deserted;  the  players  had  scat 
tered,  some  for  their  homes,  others  to  get  ready  for  dinner. 

Seating  themselves  on  one  of  the  benches,  May  leaned  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  and  made  holes  in  the  sod  with  the  tip 
of  her  parasol.  For  several  minutes  neither  said  a  word. 
Delaney  watched  her  closely,  noting  the  expression  of  weari 
ness  in  her  face,  and  the  nervous  irritation  with  which  she 
played  with  her  parasol.  At  length  he  asked  quietly: 

[169] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"Well,  May,  what 's  up ? 

Smiling  bitterly  she  answered,  "It  is  all  up,  I  guess, 
Larry." 

"Lovers'  quarrel,"  he  commented  laconically. 

"  It  takes  two  to  make  a  lovers'  quarrel,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  When  did  it  all  happen  ?  " 

"To-day, —  after  luncheon." 

"  Sudden  squall, —  soon  blow  over,"  he  said  encourag 
ingly. 

"It  is  n't  to-day,  or  yesterday,"  she  exclaimed  earnestly, 
"  it  is  the  to-morrow  I  am  afraid  of.  It  is  the  every  day  of 
the  years  to  come;  the  every  hour  of  the  endless  weeks.  At 
times  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  just  could  not  do  it."  There  was 
a  ring  of  despair  in  her  voice  which  appealed  to  Delaney. 

"  You  don't  love  him  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"No,"  she  answered  slowly. 

"  Do  you  dislike  him  ?  " 

"No;  on  the  contrary  I  rather  like  him.  Before  there 
was  any  question  of  love  I  liked  him  very  much.  There  is 
something  likable  about  him,  but  nothing  lovable, —  you 
understand  what  I  mean." 

"  I  think  I  do,  and  let  me  tell  you,  May,"  he  spoke  with 
the  assurance  of  knowledge,  "  the  likable  man  makes  a  much 
safer  husband  than  the  lovable.  May  I  use  myself  as  an 
illustration  ?  Would  you  call  me  a  likable  man  ? "  She 
shook  her  head,  smiling.  "No;  for  women  either  love  or 
hate  me;  for  the  most  part  they  dislike  me  cordially.  To 
you  I  am  companionable  because  —  because  possibly  I  am 
more  than  half  in  love  with  you  myself.  But  you  would  not 
marry  me,  you  would  not  dare  take  the  risk ; "  his  lip  curled 
cynically.  "  With  Will  Ganton  you  take  no  risk ;  you  know 

[170] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

what  he  is.  His  good  and  bad  points  are  plain  to  be  seen; 
you  know  just  the  kind  of  husband  he  will  make,  just  the 
sort  of  husband  that  nine-tenths  of  American  business  men 
make  —  husbands  who  attend  to  business  and  find  their 
recreation  in  commercial  and  club  life,  leaving  social  duties 
to  their  wives  —  safe  sort  of  husbands ;  dull,  heavy,  stupid  at 
dinners,  impossible  at  afternoon  teas.  But  they  do  stay  at 
home  and  manage  things  while  their  families  are  in  Europe 
or  making  a  splurge  at  some  resort.  As  a  patient  and  long- 
suffering  beast  of  burden,  the  American  husband  has  not  his 
equal  the  world  over.  He  is  the  only  man  with  whom  the 
clever,  brilliant,  ambitious  American  women  can  possibly  live 
on  terms  of  peace.  She  is  the  fine  fruition  of  social  condi 
tions  which  foster  independence,  originality,  ambition,  and 
resourcefulness  mixed  with  a  certain  amount  of  unscrupu- 
lousness  in  the  attainment  of  ends.  The  same  conditions 
have  produced  men  like  Will  Ganton  to  meet  her  financial 
requirements,  and  support  her  in  careers  wherein  they  play 
obscure  parts.  You  have  taken  it  into  your  head  that  you 
must  marry  for  love.  You  are  foolish.  Rather  than  marry 
for  love  the  safer  rule  would  be  never  to  marry  while  in  love. 
Love  is  a  species  of  insanity,  a  mental  aberration,  an  over 
whelming  impulse  to  do  the  foolish  thing.  The  law  should 
not  permit  people  to  enter  into  a  contract  so  important  as 
that  of  matrimony  while  laboring  under  the  illusions  and 
delusions  of  love." 

May  Keating  could  not  but  laugh  at  the  extravagance  of 
Delaney's  theories,  and  the  sobriety  with  which  he  uttered 
them.  In  spite,  however,  of  their  extravagance,  she  derived 
a  certain  amount  of  consolation  from  what  he  said;  for  it 
was  undeniably  true  that  some  of  her  most  intimate  friends 

[171] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

who  had  married  for  love  were  unhappy,  while  most  of  those 
who  had  been  influenced  solely  by  more  practical  considera 
tions  seemed  quite  contented.  But  she  could  not  help  asking 
herself  if  the  rule  held  good  for  all  classes,  and  her  answer 
was  emphatically  in  the  negative;  in  all  but  those  exclusive 
circles  which  form  polite  society,  love  is  absolutely  essential 
to  happy  marriages. 

"You  are  speaking,"  she  said  reflectively,  "of  the  exclu 
sive  few  —  of  the  smart  set.  How  about  the  multitude  ?  " 

"Oh!  the  multitude;  that  is  very  different.  The  multi 
tude  have  their  own  code,  we  have  ours;  if  they  did  not 
marry  for  the  animal  attraction  they  call  love,  they  would 
not  marry  at  all.  With  us  it  is  different.  Among  the  reasons 
which  impel  the  society  woman  to  marry,  love  is  quite  over 
shadowed;  other  considerations,  pro  and  con,  are  so  much 
more  important.  If  love  were  the  only  consideration  you 
would  not  think  of  marrying  at  all,  for  just  now  you  are  not  in 
love;  but  you  are  compelled  to  consider  the  matter  by  cir 
cumstances  over  which  you  have  no  control.  You  are  bound 
to  marry  soon ;  you  cannot  help  it.  Knowing  that,  you  have 
surveyed  the  field  of  eligibles,  and,  like  a  shrewd,  practical 
young  woman,  have  chosen  a  man  whose  prospects  are  bril 
liant  even  if  he  is  not;  and,  like  a  sensible  young  woman,  you 
are  not  going  to  let  slight  differences  interfere  with  your  plans. 
At  the  appointed  time  you  will  march  down  the  aisle  to  the 
strains  of  Lohengrin,  and  make  your  vow  to  love,  honor, 
and  obey  the  man  who  will  love,  honor,  and  most  emphati 
cally  obey  you." 

In  the  depth  of  her  being  she  felt  sure  it  would  all  turn  out 
exactly  as  he  said ;  that  neither  she  nor  Will  Ganton  had  very 
much  to  say  about  it.  Yet  this  thought,  this  feeling  of  help- 

[172] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

lessness,  irritated  her  and  stirred  within  her  the  spirit  of 
revolt.  Why  should  she  tamely  submit,  be  led  like  a  lamb 
to  the  altar  ?  Why  should  she  not  rebel  even  to  the  flinging 
of  propriety  to  the  winds  by  doing  something  outrageous  ? 

At  dinner  Will  Ganton  drank  rather  more  champagne 
than  was  good  for  him,  and  he  did  not  appear  to  advantage. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  wine  he  became  talkative,  and  soon 
his  loud  voice  and  laughter  attracted  the  attention  of  all  in  the 
room. 

"  Ganton  is  feeling  pretty  good  to-night,"  a  young  fellow 
at  one  of  the  tables  remarked  to  his  companions,  three  men 
about  his  own  age. 

"  He  looked  glum  enough  before  dinner,"  said  one  of  the 
others. 

"May  be  a  case  of  drinking  to  drown  sorrow,"  the  first 
responded  with  a  wink. 

"  Can't  see  what  he  has  to  feel  blue  about  with  a  girl  like 
May  Keating  in  love  with  him." 

"  She  does  n't  look  as  if  she  were  very  much  in  love ;  that 
may  be  the  trouble,"  and  they  all  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

May  Keating  was  conscious  of  the  looks  and  secret  com 
ments,  and  felt  annoyed.  She  was  so  accustomed  to  having 
people  stare  at  her  and  talk  about  her,  that  ordinarily  she  did 
not  even  notice  it;  but  now  to  be  made  the  subject  of  com 
ment  and  conjecture  because  Will  Ganton  was  acting  like 
a  fool  was  intolerable. 

In  vain  Mrs.  Jack  motioned  the  waiter  to  serve  no  more 
wine;  Will  called  for  it  so  loudly  he  could  not  be  denied. 
Only  the  four  were  at  the  small  oblong  table,  but  unfortu 
nately  Delaney  was  at  the  end  opposite  Ganton,  so  he  could 
exercise  no  restraining  influence,  and  could  neither  do  nor 

[173] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

say  anything  without  others  observing  him,  which  would 
lead  to  disagreeable  consequences.  Left  to  drink  as  he 
pleased,  Will  Ganton  invariably  became  more  and  more 
boisterously  good-natured;  if,  however,  he  thought  any  one 
was  trying  to  restrain  him,  it  made  him  ugly,  so  ugly  that 
once  in  a  restaurant  he  had  struck  a  well-meaning  friend  full 
in  the  face  with  his  heavy  fist,  knocking  him  to  the  floor  sense 
less.  It  was  not  often  he  drank  to  excess ;  he  had  not  formed 
the  habit,  and  really  did  not  care  very  much  for  champagne 
or  wine  of  any  kind,  but  at  times,  when  laboring  under  some 
mental  depression  or  from  physical  exhaustion,  he  felt  a 
craving  for  stimulants. 

May  Keating  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  and  compressed  lips 
showing  her  disgust  and  anger;  not  that  a  man  in  the  maud 
lin  stages  of  intoxication  was  a  novel  sight,  but  to  have  him 
get  drunk  at  their  table,  in  the  presence  of  a  room  filled  with 
people  they  knew,  under  the  observation  of  women  who  were 
enjoying  her  discomfiture,  was  an  affront  she  could  not  stand. 

In  a  voice  plainly  audible  some  distance  away,  she  said: 

"  Mr.  Ganton,  don't  you  think  you  have  had  all  the  wine 
that  is  good  for  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  mince  matters,  but  put  the  question  as  point 
edly  and  directly  as  she  could.  For  a  few  seconds  he  did 
not  grasp  the  full  significance  of  her  question,  but  smiled 
stupidly  and  lifted  his  glass  as  if  to  drink  her  health.  When 
he  finally  comprehended,  his  face  became  first  red,  then 
almost  purple  with  anger,  the  veins  of  his  neck  swelled,  and 
his  thick  lips  parted  as  if  to  say  something  coarse ;  he  dropped 
his  hand,  spilling  the  wine,  and  looked  at  her  with  his  eyes 
half  shut,  as  if  trying  to  concentrate  all  his  wandering  faculties 
upon  the  object  of  his  rage. 

[174] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

Without  the  slightest  fear,  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  until  she  saw  them  waver  as  if  to  avoid  hers,  saw  the 
thick  lips  tremble;  and  instead  of  the  outburst  of  fury  the 
others  expected,  he  muttered  something  no  one  heard,  fum 
bled  a  moment  with  his  napkin,  struggled  to  his  feet  and 
left  the  room. 

The  dining-room  was  silent.  Even  the  waiters  paused 
in  their  places,  feeling  something  extraordinary  had  occurred. 
May  Keating  sat  resting  her  chin  in  her  left  hand,  nervously 
playing  with  a  spoon  with  her  right. 

Delaney  was  the  first  to  break  the  oppressive  silence, 
by  leaning  over  and  whispering  to  Mrs.  Jack: 

"  Let  us  go." 

She  nodded  a  quick  assent,  said  something  to  her  sister, 
and  they  left  the  dining-room  by  the  door  opposite  that 
through  which  Will  Ganton  had  just  passed. 

One  could  almost  hear  a  great  sigh  of  relief  as  they  dis 
appeared,  and  in  an  instant  every  one  was  talking. 

"  That 's  the  end  of  that  little  affair,"  said  the  sharp- 
faced  young  matron,  smiling  with  satisfaction,  and  her 
opinion  was  echoed  from  all  sides. 

"  They  '11  be  lucky  if  it  does  n't  get  into  the  papers," 
said  one  young  fellow,  glancing  around.  "  There  's  Miss 
Evermore  —  they  say  she  does  society  for  the  Times,  and  she 
took  it  all  in." 

"  She  won't  mention  it  for  fear  it  would  hurt  the  Club, 
and  everybody  would  be  down  on  her  if  she  did."  It  was 
one  of  the  board  of  governors  who  spoke,  but  he  looked  at 
the  keen-eyed  young  woman  apprehensively. 

The  two  sisters  exchanged  hardly  a  word  as  they  drove 
home.  Mrs.  Jack  was  disappointed  and  chagrined;  May 

[175] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Keating  felt  humiliated.  She  knew  that  occasionally  Will 
Ganton  drank  too  much, —  everybody  knew  that, —  but 
she  also  knew  from  carefully  veiled  inquiries  that  he  was  by 
no  means  a  drunkard,  and  she  had  been  led  to  believe  his 
occasional  lapses  were  upon  convivial  occasions,  when  many 
a  man  with  a  weak  head  drinks  more  than  he  should.  She 
had  never  heard  of  his  becoming  intoxicated  at  the  Club; 
and  to  think  that  he  should  have  made  such  an  exhibition  of 
himself  while  dining  with  her  in  a  room  filled  with  people, 
most  of  whom  would  gloat  over  her  sister's  and  her  own 
embarrassment!  She  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her  cheeks 
from  shame  and  indignation,  felt  it  surge  back  to  her  heart 
as  she  became  white  with  anger.  She  could  not  say  any 
thing  to  her  sister;  what  was  there  to  say?  Just  as  they 
neared  the  house  Mrs.  Jack  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  excuse 
Will  Ganton,  stammering  something  about  "  quarrel  — 
depressed  —  misunderstood,"  but  May  interrupted  her 
sharply. 

"There  is  no  need  of  discussing  the  matter,  for  there  is 
nothing  to  be  said,"  and  she  went  to  her  room  and  locked 
the  door. 

Will  Ganton  did  not  go  home  that  night,  nor  was  he  at 
the  Yards  all  the  next  day.  Browning  was  anxious,  and 
John  Ganton's  face  a  thunder-cloud;  he  ordered  the  in 
debtedness  at  the  bank  satisfied,  because  he  knew  that 
sooner  or  later  he  would  be  obliged  to  pay  it ;  but  as  he  gave 
the  necessary  instructions  to  Browning  he  said  gloomily: 

"This  is  the  last  time,  Browning,  I  will  make  good  his 
losses;  if  he  gets  in  trouble  again  he  may  go  to  the  devil." 

The  old  man  wheeled  about  in  his  chair  and  looked  out 
[176] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

on  the  street;  the  morning  was  hot,  and  he  was  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  with  his  vest  thrown  open,  his  collar  unbuttoned  and 
flaring.  His  head  dropped  down  into  his  shoulders,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  Browning  thought  John  Ganton 
began  to  show  signs  of  age. 

A  little  later  Browning  had  occasion  to  go  into  the  pri 
vate  office,  and  to  his  astonishment  the  old  man  still  sat 
looking  out  of  the  window,  the  papers  on  his  desk  untouched ; 
this  was  so  unusual  Browning  could  not  help  exclaiming: 
"  Mr.  Ganton,  don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 

Turning  with  a  start,  he  hastily  picked  up  the  papers 
before  him,  as  if  ashamed  of  being  caught  idle. 

"  Why  yes,  I  'm  all  right,  Browning.  My  stomick  's  a 
little  out  of  kilter,  but" —  and  he  leaned  back  from  his  desk  — 
"I  was  thinking  what  would  become  of  Ganton  &  Co. 
if  anything  happened  to  me.  Who  would  take  my  place  ?  " 

There  was  a  pathetic  ring  to  the  old  man's  voice.  The 
great  business  of  Ganton  &  Co.  was  his  baby;  he  had  watched 
it  grow  from  nothing;  fathered  it,  fostered  it,  nursed  it;  it 
was  the  offspring  of  his  brain  and  his  energy  —  the  greatest 
business  of  the  kind  in  the  whole  world.  Competitors  had 
followed  in  his  footsteps,  had  even  tried  to  win  some  of  his 
prestige,  but  he  crushed  or  cowed  them  until  all  acknowl 
edged  his  supremacy.  Each  year  his  business  expanded; 
like  a  ball  of  snow  rolling  down  a  steep  hill,  it  gained  in 
volume  as  it  gained  momentum,  until  in  its  progress  over 
the  face  of  the  globe  it  was  now  so  far  beyond  control  that 
it  must  go  on  and  on  and  on,  or  disintegrate  if  brought  to 
a  standstill. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  he  felt  he  was  master  of  the 
business,  but  now  the  vast  organization  swept  him  along 

[177] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

as  irresistibly  as  it  carried  ana  provided  for  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  employees.  There  had  been  a  time 
when  he  could  have  sold  it,  but  that  was  long  ago.  Who 
would  buy  Ganton  &  Co.  now  ?  Who  could  buy  ?  No  one 
man  had  the  means,  no  coterie  of  men  would  dare  try  to  con 
trol  the  leviathan;  for  the  business  had  become  a  living, 
breathing  giant,  an  industrial  monster  his  structure  of 
mechanical  and  commercial  processes  had  started  into  life. 
Once  he  might  have  wound  up  and  liquidated  the  business 
if  he  desired ;  but  that  was  before  the  business  had  acquired 
strength  and  will  of  its  own;  before  it  had  become  so  large 
that  to  wind  it  up  would  spread  disaster  throughout  the 
country,  even  to  the  far  ends  of  the  earth. 

The  courts  had  referred  to  the  great  packing  industries 
as  quasi-public  corporations,  as  no  longer  so  exclusively 
private  as  to  be  subject  to  the  caprice  of  any  one  man  or 
body  of  men.  Legislatures  had  passed  laws  with  special 
reference  to  these  great  concerns,  until  in  no  less  than  fif 
teen  States  Ganton  &  Co.  maintained  lobbies  at  each 
session  of  every  legislature,  to  secure  favorable  and  prevent 
unfavorable  legislation. 

There  were  times  when  the  old  man  felt  his  impotency 
in  the  presence  of  the  huge  industrial  mass,  the  expansion 
of  which  was  seemingly  so  irresistible ;  again  he  felt  his  power 
and  gloried  in  it.  For  while  he  was  swept  along  as  the  captain 
and  crew  are  carried  by  a  great  ship,  the  organization  needed 
his  guidance  much  as  a  ship,  however  huge,  needs  the  con 
trol  of  the  captain;  and  it  troubled  him  to  think  there  was 
no  one  to  take  his  place  when  he  should  be  compelled  to 
step  down  and  out.  For  a  time  affairs  would  go  on  much 
the  same,  the  organization  was  so  perfect,  the  heads  of 

[178] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

departments  so  competent;  but  without  some  one  to  decide 
with  unerring  sagacity  the  questions  that  came  up  every 
day, —  questions  of  policy,  questions  of  contract,  questions 
of  immense  purchases  in  the  market,  of  quick  sales  in 
distant  countries,  matters  which  could  no  more  be  debated 
than  emergencies  on  a  field  of  battle, —  what  would  become 
of  the  great  business  ?  If  Will  should  turn  out  a  failure,  to 
whom  could  he  look  ? 

Tuesday  May  Keating  received  a  penitent  and  remorse 
ful  letter  from  Will  Ganton.  The  letter  came  just  as  she 
was  dressing  to  go  for  a  drive;  she  read  it,  tossed  it  to  one 
side,  gave  one  of  her  gloves  so  vicious  a  pull  it  ripped;  with 
an  exclamation  of  impatience,  she  picked  up  the  letter  and 
re-read  it.  For  some  moments  she  stood  in  front  of  her 
dressing-table,  so  absorbed  in  thought  that,  as  her  eyes  rose 
and  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  mirror,  it  startled 
her  as  if  she  had  seen  a  stranger  before  her;  she  noted  the 
look  of  irritation  and  indecision  on  her  own  face,  and  she  was 
curiously  interested.  She  wondered  if  the  young  woman 
in  the  mirror,  the  young  woman  in  hat  and  street  costume, 
with  brown  hair  and  dark  eyes,  would  listen  to  the  appeal  in 
the  letter.  No,  she  did  not  think  the  woman  in  the  mirror 
would ;  she  did  not  look  as  if  she  would,  for  the  lines  about 
her  mouth  were  just  a  little  hard,  and  there  was  an  expression 
in  her  eyes  she  did  not  quite  like.  This  woman  looked  as  if 
she  could  be  merciless  and  cruel  when  she  chose,  and  she  was 
worldly,  that  was  certain.  Why,  then,  did  she  hold  that 
open  letter  in  her  hand  as  if  undecided  what  to  do  ?  Why 
did  she  pick  it  up  and  read  it  a  second  time? 

How  long  she  might  have  stood  there  lost  in  thought  it 
[179] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

is  impossible  to  say,  for  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Jack  opened 
the  door,  saying: 

"  Come,  May,  are  n't  you  ready  ?  " 

"Yes;  in  a  second.  I  ripped  a  glove.  There  's  a  letter 
from  Will  Ganton,"  she  added  carelessly. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  it 's  time  he  attempted  some  sort  of 
an  explanation,"  Mrs.  Jack  exclaimed,  as  she  eagerly  seized 
the  letter  and  proceeded  to  read  it.  When  finished  she 
looked  up  with  the  remark: 

"Not  bad.  You  were  pretty  hard  on  him.  He  is  peni 
tent  enough,  that 's  certain.  .  .  .  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it  ?  "  She  looked  at  her  sister  anxiously. 

"I  don't  know.  Nothing,  I  guess,"  was  the  uncertain 
response. 

"You  will  have  to  answer  it." 

"  Why  ?  "  There  was  a  marked  accent  of  irritation.  "  I 
can  let  the  matter  drop  as  it  is,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course  you  can,  dearie;  but  I  think  a  letter 
like  that  deserves  an  answer.  It  is  not  a  crime  to  get  drunk," 
Mrs.  Jack  continued  apologetically. 

"  It  is  worse  than  a  crime  to  get  drunk  when  dining  in 
public  with   ladies.     It  reduces  them  to  the  level   of  — 
she  hesitated,  and  her  sister  hastened  to  interpose. 

"Of  course  there  is  no  excuse.  It  was  outrageous,  and 
I  intend  to  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity;  but  I  think  you  ought  to  write  him  and  tell  him 
that  —  that  —  " 

"  What  ? "  asked  her  sister  calmly.  Mrs.  Jack  did  not 
know  what  she  would  tell  him,  or  rather,  she  knew  very 
well  that  she  would  tell  him  to  come  back  and  all  would  be 
forgiven;  and  that  that  was  what  she  wanted  her  sister  to 

[180] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

write,  only  she  did  not  dare  say  it  in  so  many  words.  But 
May  knew  perfectly  well  what  was  passing  in  Mrs.  Jack's 
not  very  subtle  mind;  she  knew  that  ever  since  the  dinner 
her  sister  had  been  hoping  something  might  be  done  to  heal 
the  breach.  She  had  set  her  heart  on  this  match,  and  did 
not  propose  to  be  balked. 

"  Well,  let  us  go.  I  am  ready,"  May  suddenly  exclaimed, 
as  she  quickly  buttoned  her  glove. 

Mrs.  Jack  hesitated.  "  Are  n't  you  going  to  answer  the 
letter?" 

"  No,  not  now.  There  will  be  time  enough  later.  Let 
us  go." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  which  made  Mrs. 
Jack  feel  as  if  the  victory  were  won.  She  knew  that  the 
woman  who  debates  always  answers. 

Half-way  up  the  outer  drive  they  saw  Delaney  walking 
with  Mrs.  Trelway. 

"  I  don't  like  that  woman,"  Mrs.  Jack  exclaimed  in  a  tone 
of  annoyance. 

"Who?  Oh,  Carrie  Trelway,"  said  her  sister,  looking 
up  and  catching  sight  of  the  two  on  the  walk. 

"  Horribly  vulgar,"  continued  Mrs.  Jack,  and  her  round 
face  expressed  her  disgust 

"Because  she  is  walking  with  Larry  Delaney?"  was  the 
rather  cutting  rejoinder. 

"No;  of  course  not.  What  a  mean  thing  to  say,  May. 
She  says  such  disagreeable  and  indecent  things,  I  can't  see 
how  people  tolerate  her." 

When  the  victoria  drew  up  alongside  the  curb  so  she 
might  speak  to  them,  Mrs.  Jack's  face  was  wreathed  in  the 
blandest  of  smiles. 

[181] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Trelway." 

"  You  did  not  look  so  pleased  a  moment  ago,"  was  the 
blunt  rejoinder.  Mrs.  Trelway  looked  at  Mrs.  Jack  boldly 
and  laughed  at  her  confusion.  "Heard  all  about  the  time 
you  had  at  the  Club  Sunday  night,  May,"  she  continued, 
turning  suddenly  to  May  Keating,  who  was  leaning  back 
with  an  air  of  bored  indifference ;  "  sorry  I  was  not  there  to 
help  you  take  care  of  the  young  man." 

"Yes;  your  experience  would  have  been  helpful."  Every 
one  knew  Billy  Trelway's  many  weaknesses. 

"Oh,  Billy  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world  when  he  is 
drunk.  You  can  do  anything  with  him,"  was  the  perfectly 
frank  rejoinder.  No  one  could  feaze  Mrs.  Trelway  by  refer 
ences  to  the  shortcomings  of  either  her  husband  or  herself; 
her  self-possession  being  of  that  adamantine  character  which 
defies  attack.  "  I  suppose,"  she  continued  lightly,  "  Will  and 
Billy  are  a  good  deal  alike,  more  interesting  drunk  than 
sober." 

Delaney  listened  with  an  amused  expression,  which  added 
to  Mrs.  Jack's  irritation.  She  was  furious,  and  all  the  more 
so  because  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  that  could 
disturb  the  equanimity  of  Mrs.  Trelway.  Apparently  May 
Keating  was  quite  indifferent,  for  she  sat  there  with  the 
same  bored  expression.  Delaney  admired  her  self-possession, 
and  said  to  himself,  "By  Jove!  but  you  are  a  great  girl." 

As  the  victoria  drove  on,  Mrs.  Trelway  turned  to  him 
and,  as  if  divining  his  thoughts,  said : 

"  You  are  right,  Larry,  she  is  a  stunning  girl, —  but  no 
wife  for  Will  Ganton." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  curious  to  know  her  reasons  for  the 
conviction  so  positively  expressed. 

[182] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

"Because  they  would  both  go  to  the  devil  if  married," 
she  answered  positively 

"  I  don't  see  that,"   he  remarked  slowly. 

"  Of  course  you  don't, —  no  man  would  see  it, —  but 
they  are  no  more  fitted  for  one  another  than  oil  and  water, 
—  they  won't  mix.  He  is  not  a  bad  fellow  in  his  way, 
rather  likable;  and  I  wish  him  better  luck  than  to  marry 
May  Keating." 

"  Are  n't  you  rather  down  on  her  ?  "  he  protested. 

"  Not  at  all ;  she  is  a  stunning  girl  —  that  is  just  the  word 
for  her  —  stunning,  and  she  ought  to  marry  a  man  like 
you.  Why  don't  you  marry  her,  Larry?"  She  brought 
her  heavy  eyebrows  even  nearer  together,  and  gave  Delaney 
so  searching  a  look  that  he  dropped  his  eyes  in  some  con 
fusion. 

"I  — "  he  stammered,  "why,  I  have  no  intention  of 
marrying.  I  cannot  afford  to  —  besides,"  he  continued, 
recovering  his  equanimity,  "  she  would  not  have  me." 

"  She  might  be  wise  there ;  nevertheless,  she  needs  a  hus 
band  with  some  of  your  brilliant  and  unscrupulous  char 
acteristics." 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  nettled.  There  were  times  when 
Mrs.  Trelway  was  too  outspoken  to  suit  even  him.  What 
could  she  mean  by  "  unscrupulous  characteristics  "  ?  Nor 
did  he  feel  much  more  at  ease  when  she  continued,  coolly: 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing.  We  all  have  our  unscrupulous 
sides,  and  some  of  us  have  more  than  one.  You,  I  take  it, 
are  especially  favored,  since  most  clever  men  are.  We  are 
all  criminals  more  or  less  veneered,  and  it  is  the  lawless  ele 
ment  in  us  that  makes  life  worth  living, —  worth  living  to 
those  who  indulge  it,  better  worth  living  to  those  who  con- 

[183] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

quer  it;  but  inane  and  insipid  to  those  who  so  far  obliterate 
it  that  they  no  longer  feel  the  contest  between  the  evil  and 
the  good." 

"You  believe,  then,  in  the  virtue  of  sin?"  he  suggested. 

"  Yes ;  for  how  can  there  be  any  virtue  without  sin  ?  Are 
they  not  relative  terms?  The  one  is  simply  the  contrast 
which  makes  the  other  perceptible." 

"All  of  which  is  interesting;  but  how  would  you  apply 
these  general  observations  to  Will  Ganton  and  myself,  the 
two  cases  under  discussion  ?  " 

"Will  Ganton  needs  a  wife  of  good  common  sense, 
domestic  tastes,  stubborn  and  phlegmatic  disposition.  You 
follow  bad  impulses  from  choice,  and  even  cultivate  them  to 
secure  more  exquisite  enjoyment.  The  woman  who  married 
you  to  reform  you  would  waste  her  life;  what  you  need  is  a 
wife  who  will  not  mourn  over  your  follies,  but  match  them 
with  her  own,  and  so  live  with  you  on  terms  of  perfect  under 
standing  and  more  or  less  accord." 

"  And  you  think  May  Keating  that  sort  of  a  woman  ? " 
Mrs.  Trelway's  direct  manner  of  putting  things  interested 
him ;  she  certainly  saw  the  people  about  her  very  clearly. 

"  She  is  just  the  wife  for  a  man  like  you, —  only  the  man 
who  marries  her  must  have  money." 

"  That  bars  me,"  he  interrupted,  smiling  grimly. 

"Oh,  you  are  clever  enough  to  make  money,  Larry 
Delaney."  She  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"I  have  been  trying  a  long  time,  and  so  far  have  only 
enough  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door." 

"You  may  not  be  trying  in  the  right  way.  The  trouble 
with  you  is  that  you  try  to  do  everything  by  your  wits ;  you 
are  too  clever  for  your  own  good." 

[184] 


A  Glass  of  Wine 

She  did  not  know  how  near  her  random  shots  came  to  the 
bull's-eye,  but  he  hastened  to  change  the  subject;  he  had  no 
desire  to  discuss  his  personal  affairs  with  a  woman  so  keen. 
He  knew  he  had  his  enemies,  and  that  some  of  them  did  not 
hesitate  to  say  very  sharp  things  about  him  and  his  business 
methods.  Billy  Trelway  himself  was  one  of  those  who  had 
lost  considerable  sums  trading  through  him,  but  whether 
Billy  had  ever  questioned  the  regularity  of  the  transactions 
he  did  not  know.  But  it  was  more  than  likely  that  Mrs. 
Trelway  knew  of  the  losses  and  probably  of  the  rumors, 
since  she  knew  everything  that  was  worth  knowing  and  much 
that  was  not.  At  one  time  she  was  in  the  habit  of  asking 
him  to  invest  a  little  money  for  her  in  the  market ;  and  while 
her  investments  had  been  successful  in  nearly  every  instance, 
she  suddenly  stopped  speculating  through  him,  though  he 
was  certain  she  still  did  so  occasionally  through  others. 

Every  successful  speculator  is  annoyed  by  these  social 
customers.  Some  Larry  Delaney  could  not  refuse  without 
offending,  and  there  were  others  whom  he  wished  under 
obligations  to  him;  but  though  it  had  cost  him  several 
thousands  of  dollars  to  carry  these  clients  and  protect  them 
from  losses,  the  money  he  thought  well  spent  in  most  in 
stances,  and  not  altogether  wasted  in  any. 

He  could  even  point  out  the  jewels,  the  hats,  the  gowns, 
his  money  had  bought;  for  women  invariably  put  their 
winnings  into  some  particular  thing  they  want,  and  exhibit 
the  purchase  to  friends  as  the  result  of  their  sagacity. 


[185] 


CHAPTER  XII 

AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTER 

WHEN  John  Wilton  came  home  about  five  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  he  looked  over  the  mail  on  the  hall  table, 
picked  out  his  own  letters,  and  went  upstairs  to  the 
nursery.     It  was  his  habit  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  house  to 
hunt  up  his  boy;  many  days  that  was  about  all  he  came  home 
for,  just  to  see  the  little  fellow  and  have  a  romp  with  him. 
They  were  great  chums. 

As  he  opened  the  door  he  heard  an  indignant  little  voice 
shouting : 

"  'Oo  told  a  lie, —  I  hate  'oo  —  I  hate  'oo, —  I  won't 
speak  wiv  'oo.  Go  away  —  go  away,"  and  he  saw  Harold 
struggling  with  the  French  governess,  a  young  woman  he  did 
not  like.  The  moment  the  little  fellow  caught  sight  of  his 
father  he  tore  himself  away  and  rushed  into  Wilton's  arms; 
all  his  rage  welled  into  tears,  and  he  sobbed  as  if  his  little 
heart  would  break. 

" What 's  the  matter,  Major?     What  has  happened?" 

The  governess  began  a  confused  explanation  in  broken 
English,  that  the  boy  would  not  speak  to  her  in  French; 
"and  Monsieur,  he  know,  eet  ees  Madame's  wish  zat  he 
spik  French  all  ze  time  wiz  me." 

"  She  told  a  lie  —  she  told  a  lie.  I  won't  speak  wiv  her!  " 
the  little  fellow  cried  out  between  his  sobs. 

Wilton  looked  at  her.  For  just  a  second  her  eyes  dropped, 
but  she  looked  up  brazenly  and  said  nothing. 

[186] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

"What  does  he  mean  by  saying  you  told  a  lie?"  he 
finally  asked. 

Shrugging  her  shoulders,  she  replied  indifferently,  "Je 
ne  sais  pas." 

'  'Oo  do  know  —  'oo  do  know.  'Oo  know  'oo  told  a  lie/' 
shouted  the  boy,  hugging  his  father  tightly  about  the  neck, 
but  at  the  same  time  looking  fearlessly  at  the  governess. 
Her  face  assumed  a  hard  and  ugly  look. 

"  You  may  go,"  said  Wilton  quietly,  "  I  will  inquire  into 
the  matter." 

"I  prefare  to  stay,  eef  he  ees  to  say  zings  about  me,"  she 
said  stubbornly. 

"You  may  go,"  he  repeated,  and  this  time  so  sternly  she 
turned  and  left  the  room;  but  as  she  did  so  he  heard  her 
mutter  something  about  "  Madame."  He  knew  from  past 
scenes  that  Mrs.  Jack  would  take  the  part  of  the  French 
woman  against  Harold  and  himself.  Time  and  again  he  had 
tried  to  get  rid  of  her,  but  her  influence  over  his  wife  seemed 
something  unaccountable.  He  hated  to  have  his  boy  with 
her;  but  when  he  expostulated  with  Mrs.  Jack  she  sharply 
asked,  "  Why  ?  "  and  because  he  could  give  no  very  definite 
reasons,  said  impatiently,  "Just  one  of  your  prejudices. 
You  don't  like  her  because  she  is  French.  Well,  the  child 
must  have  a  French  governess,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

He  could  not  see  why  they  should  take  into  their  home  a 
young  woman  whose  antecedents  were  not  only  unknown, 
but  apparently  wrapped  in  mystery,  whose  account  of  her 
own  life  and  the  reasons  why  she  came  to  America  were  so 
vague  and  conflicting  as  to  challenge  suspicion,  and  whose 
conduct  while  in  their  service  had  not  been  above  criticism. 
He  once  said  gently,  "You  would  not  employ  a  cook  or 

[187] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

maid  without  some  sort  of  recommendation, —  without  know 
ing  where  she  had  worked;  is  it  not  just  as  important  to 
know  something  about  the  girl  who  is  to  live  in  the  same 
room  with  our  boy  ?  " 

But  it  did  no  good:  Mrs.  Jack  was  bound  to  have  a 
French  governess ;  it  was  the  thing  to  do,  and  that  was  suffi 
cient. 

From  the  moment  the  strange  girl  entered  the  house, 
Harold  hated  her.  That  pleased  his  father,  but  it  brought 
the  little  fellow  many  a  sharp  vord  from  his  mother.  As 
for  the  governess,  she  paid  no  attention  to  the  child's  aversion, 
but  steadily  ingratiated  herself  with  Mrs.  Jack  until  she  felt 
she  was  an  indispensable  factor  in  the  household. 

When  the  girl  was  out  of  the  room,  Wilton  said  soothingly: 

"Tell  papa  all  about  it,  Major,"  using  his  pet  name,  as 
"Harold"  seemed  too  ponderous  for  such  a  little  shaver, 
"  Harry  "  too  slangy,  but  "  Major  "  just  expressed  him. 
"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  told  a  lie.  She  said  mamma  did  n't  love  'oo,  and  zen 
she  laughed." 

Wilton  felt  something  tighten  about  his  heart  at  hearing 
this  from  his  own  child.  He  pulled  nervously  at  his  mus 
tache  and  looked  at  the  boy,  wondering  if  he  understood  the 
significance  of  what  he  was  saying;  but  all  he  saw  were  the 
big  blue  eyes,  still  filled  with  tears,  looking  frankly  into 
his  own,  and  he  knew  no  suspicion  of  the  truth  had  entered 
the  little  curly  head. 

"I  guess  she  was  fooling,"  he  said  slowly;  "she  did  n't 
mean  it." 

"Oh,  'ess  she  did,  for  she  said  mamma  loved  some  one 
else  better  zan  she  loved  'oo."  In  his  anger  and  excitement 

[188] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

the  sounds  of  "  th  "  and  "  y  "  were  too  much  for  his  little 
tongue. 

Wilton's  face  flushed  with  shame  and  anger,  to  think  the 
woman  had  put  such  notions  into  the  head  of  his  boy,  his 
baby;  he  knew  she  had  done  it  spitefully  to  wound  him. 
Perhaps  she  had  not  counted  on  the  little  fellow's  resentment, 
but  probably  thought  he  would  repeat  what  she  said  as  a 
careless  remark  which  she  could  deny  if  called  to  task. 

For  a  moment  he  thought  of  hunting  her  up  and  ordering 
her  from  the  house  instantly,  but  felt  that  would  not  do. 
It  would  create  a  scene,  and  only  make  bad  matters  worse, — 
in  fact,  it  was  altogether  likely  she  would  refuse  to  go  at  his 
command,  but  coolly  say  she  had  been  engaged  by  Madame. 
Besides,  what  reason  could  he  give  for  her  sudden  dismissal  ? 
He  could  not  say  she  had  said  his  wife  loved  another  better 
than  him ;  it  would  sound  too  ridiculous. 

Before  these  conflicting  considerations  one  resolution 
after  another  faded  away,  and  he  sat  there  so  silent  and 
gloomy  that  little  Harold  was  afraid  to  utter  a  word ;  he  had 
never  before  seen  his  father's  face  look  like  that. 

"  She  must  go,  and  go  at  once,"  he  kept  repeating  to  him 
self,  as  if  by  repetition  he  strengthened  his  determination 
and  made  her  dismissal  sure.  "I  will  speak  to  Sally  as 
soon  as  she  comes  in,  and  she  must  get  her  out  of  the  house 
to-day, —  yes,  to-day.  She  shall  not  see  the  boy  again." 
The  thought  that  she  would  ever  again  speak  to  Harold 
caused  the  blood  to  rush  to  his  face,  and  he  pulled  his  mous 
tache  viciously. 

"  Wat 's  ze  matter,  papa  ?  "  was  the  timid  inquiry.  "  'Oo 
look  sick." 

"  Nothing  —  nothing  much,  Major.  Papa  is  not  sick." 
[189] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

The  little  fellow  brightened  up  and  exclaimed,  confidently, 

"  It  was  a  lie,  was  n't  it,  papa  ?  " 

That  cut,  and  it  cut  deep.    "  Of  course,  Major;  she  should 
not  say  such  things.      No  one  should  say  such  things," 
he  hesitated, — "  whether  true  or  false." 

"I  don't  like  her,  papa.     I  hate  her." 

"Mustn't  say  that,  Major.  Hate  is  a  naughty  word. 
You  don't  hate  any  one." 

'  'Ess  I  do.  I  hate  her;  I  don't  hate  any  one  else,  not 
even  ze  boy  who  frew  stones  at  Buzzer.  Won't  'oo  send  her 
away,  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  she  shall  go.     Where  is  mamma  ?  " 

"  Mamma  's  out  d wiving  wiv  Aunty  May.  'Oo  send  her 
away  before  mamma  turns  back/'  He  felt  instinctively 
that  his  mother  would  not  discharge  the  governess,  no  matter 
what  she  had  done. 

"Can't  do  that,  darling.  Mamma  would  not  like  it; 
but  don't  you  be  afraid,  she  shall  go." 

Still  holding  the  little  fellow  on  his  knee,  WTilton  in  an 
absent-minded  manner  began  opening  his  letters.  He  knew 
they  were  of  no  importance,  mostly  bills,  receipts,  adver 
tisements,  and  he  scarcely  glanced  at  them,  until  suddenly 
his  attention  was  arrested  by  one  which  contained  simply  a 
sheet  of  plain  note-paper,  on  which  were  pasted  letters  cut 
from  a  newspaper,  which  read : 

"  JOHN  WILTON,  ESQ. —  If  you  will  watch  your  wife  and 
Lawrence  Delaney  a  little  more  closely  you  will  discover 
things  that  will  interest  you.  A  FRIEND." 

It  was  an  anonymous  letter, — the  most  contemptible  and 
cowardly  of  all  attacks.  John  Wilton  detested  such  things, 

[190] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

and  had  always  said  they  should  be  burned  and  forgotten 
immediately.  He  knew  there  were  seasons  when  they  were 
epidemic,  like  typhoid,  diphtheria,  and  other  infectious  and 
contagious  diseases ;  that  frequently  neighborhoods  were  per 
secuted,  and  not  only  men  and  women,  but  even  young  girls 
just  out  in  society,  were  made  the  victims  of  some  malicious 
or  disordered  brain.  In  rare  instances  the  writers  were 
exposed  and  prosecuted;  more  often  they  were  suspected 
and  shunned.  John  Wilton  had  always  felt  sure  that  if 
he  ever  received  such  a  communication,  he  would  tear  it  up 
without  giving  it  a  thought.  Now,  face  to  face  with  the 
literal  fact,  the  thing  seemed  different;  possibly  because  it 
came  with  cumulative  force  upon  what  the  governess  had 
said  only  a  few  moments  before.  It  caught  him  in  a  moment 
of  depression,  when  he  was  off  his  guard,  and  the  shaft  went 
home. 

"What  a  funny  letter,  papa,"  Harold  exclaimed,  looking 
with  childish  curiosity  at  the  sheet  of  note  paper,  with  its 
printed  letters  awkwardly  pasted  together. 

Hastily  folding  the  letter,  Wilton  put  it  in  his  pocket; 
it  was  so  contaminating  he  was  sorry  the  child  had  seen  it. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Major.  Some  one  pasted  those  letters  on 
the  paper  for  —  fun,  I  guess." 

"  I  'm  doin '  to  write  a  letter  like  zat  to  mamma.  Where  's 
ze  mooslage  ? "  He  jumped  down,  and  ran  as  fast  as  his 
little  legs  would  carry  him  to  the  desk  in  the  corner  where  he 
kept  his  writing  materials,  his  paper  and  pencils, —  he  was 
not  allowed  ink, —  and  a  bottle  of  very  gummy  "  mooslage," 
which  he  kept  for  mending  dolls,  and  "  tickin  fings  togedder  " 
generally. 

Wilton  knew  there  was  no  use  trying  to  divert  him.  The 
[191] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

novelty  of  the  letter  had  completely  taken  his  childish  fancy, 
and  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  written  one  like  it  to  every 
one  in  the  house.  He  was  a  great  letter- writer ;  but  of  late 
making  scrawls  on  papers,  sealing  them  up  and  giving  them 
to  the  postman,  who  good-naturedly  handed  them  in  with 
the  regular  mail,  had  lost  its  charm.  Now  this  new  way  of 
writing  aroused  his  flagging  enthusiasm,  and  he  would  begin 
all  over. 

"  I  s'all  wite  Aunty  May,  and  mamma,  and  —  oh,  'ess, 
I  s'all  wite  Mister  Delaney  a  dood  long  letter,  and  tell  him  to 
bwing  me  anuzzer  box  of  tandy  wight  away. " 

"No,  no,"  Wilton  exclaimed  earnestly;  "no,  Major,  you 
must  not  write  Mr.  Delaney  that  sort  of  a  letter." 

"  W'y  not,  papa  ? "  he  looked  up,  his  big  blue  eyes  wide 
open  in  amazement  that  his  father  should  not  want  him  to 
write  to  Mr.  Delaney.  He  always  wrote  him  letters,  and 
always  got  whatever  he  wrote  for,  the  two  were  such  good 
friends. 

"Papa  does  not  want  you  to  write  Mr.  Delaney  any 
more."  Wilton  spoke  so  quietly  and  so  sadly  that  the  little 
fellow  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "  Write  me  the  letter  and 
I  will  bring  you  the  candy,"  he  continued,  in  the  effort  to 
divert  the  set  purpose  of  the  determined  little  mind. 

"Will  'oo  bwing  ze  same  kind  as  ze  last  box?"  was  the 
doubtful  and  somewhat  suspicious  inquiry. 

"  Yes,  of  course.     What  was  the  last  box  ?  " 

"Toklate  solders  wiv  wed  and  w'ite  tandies  for  flags." 

"  That 's  all  right,  Major,  we'll  have  the  chocolate  sol 
diers  and  the  red  and  white  candies  to-morrow.  You  need 
not  write  me  the  letter." 

"Oh,  'ess,  I  must." 

[  192] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

"Well,  remember,  don't  write  any  letter  to  Mr.  Delaney 

—  ever  again.     Write  me  for  whatever  you  want." 
Wilton  was  surprised  to  find  himself  wondering  where  he 

could  find  such  extraordinary  candies.  He  did  not  remem 
ber  having  ever  seen  chocolate  soldiers  with  red  and  white 
flags,  but  he  would  visit  every  confectioner's  in  the  city  if 
necessary.  Suppose  Delaney  had  bought  them  in  New 
York  —  it  was  quite  likely,  for  he  was  fond  of  giving  novelties 

—  what    then  ?     These  thoughts  were  running  through  his 
brain  as  freely  as  if  his  mind  were  not  wholly  occupied  by 
more  serious  matters.     What  should  he  do  about  the  gover 
ness  and  the  letter  ?     Those  were  the  real  problems,  and  not 
the  whereabouts  of  the  chocolate  soldiers  and  the  red  and 
white  candies ;  yet  the  latter  obtruded  itself  whenever  he  was 
about  to  come  to  a  decision  regarding  the  more  important 
matter. 

WTien  Mrs.  Jack  returned,  Wilton  went  at  once  to  her 
room,  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  him,  and  said  in  a 
constrained  voice, 

"  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  Sally." 

His  manner  was  so  unusual,  and  his  tone  so  unfamiliar, 
that  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  The  time 
was  not  favorable  for  a  talk.  Mrs.  Jack  was  decidedly  out 
of  sorts;  meeting  Mrs.  Trelway  had  quite  upset  her;  but 
John  Wilton  did  not  know  all  this,  and  did  not  even  raise  his 
eyes  to  look  at  her  when  she  asked  irritably, 

"  Well,  what  is  it  now  ?  " 

He  had  seated  himself  and  was  looking  at  the  curled-up 
corner  of  the  rug.  He  tried  to  turn  it  back  with  the  toe  of 
his  shoe,  but  it  would  not  stay  flat.  He  knew  his  wife  was 
standing  there  glaring  at  him  angrily.  It  was  what  she 

[193] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

always  did  when  he  attempted  to  remonstrate  with  her,  but 
he  did  not  care,  now  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  speak 
plainly, —  if  the  corner  of  that  rug  would  only  stay  down,  he 
could  go  on. 

"  When  you  get  through  fussing  with  that  rug  I  hope  you 
will  say  something,  or  — " 

That  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  recall  him  to  himself. 
Looking  straight  at  her,  he  said  quickly, 

"  The  governess  must  go.  " 

"Indeed,  what  is  the  matter  now?" 

Without  heeding  the  tone  of  a  question  meant  to  belittle 
him,  he  continued, 

"She  must  go,  to-day." 

The  repetition  grated  upon  her.  Her  round,  pretty  face 
flushed  with  anger,  and  with  her  eyes  half  shut  she  took  sev 
eral  steps  toward  him,  almost  screaming: 

"  Why  must  she  go  to-day  ?  WThat  has  she  done  ?  What 
have  you  to  say  about  it,  anyway?  I  tell  you  she 
sha'n't  go  to-day  or  any  other  day,  and  I  don't  want  you 
to  meddle. " 

"  She  has  been  talking  to  Harold, "  he  went  on  quietly. 

"  That  is  what  she  is  hired  for,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  She  has  said  things  no  decent  girl  would  say  to  a  child." 
He  spoke  more  firmly  now,  and  his  wife  began  to  wonder 
what  had  happened. 

"  What  has  she  said  ?  "  she  asked  more  soberly. 

"I  do  not  like  to  repeat  her  words,  but  — "  he  hesitated, 
"  I  suppose  there  is  no  other  way.  She  told  Harold  you  did 
not  love  me,  and  that  you  loved  some  one  else  better.  It  is 
not  that  I  care  about  myself,  Sally,  but  to  think  any  girl  could 
be  so  low  as  to  talk  that  way  to  a  child ! " 

[194] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

The  blood  left  Mrs.  Jack's  face,  and  she  felt  herself  be 
come  suddenly  pale.  For  the  first  time  in  her  married  life  she 
felt  afraid, —  afraid  of  her  husband,  afraid  of  her  servants, 
afraid  of  herself.  The  feeling  of  fear  which  for  the  moment 
overwhelmed  her  little  soul  was  sickening,  and  she  grew  faint. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  people  really  talked  about  her,  that 
they  really  knew,  that  her  own  servants  knew?  She  had 
been  reckless  and  imprudent;  she  had  done  so  many  things 
other  women  would  not  do  that  her  own  sister  had  often 
remonstrated  with  her,  but  all  this  was  part  of  her  theory  of 
life.  Every  woman  who  amounted  to  anything  had  some 
man  at  her  heels,  a  social  substitute  for  her  husband,  and 
she  believed  the  two  should  be  linked  together  by  a  certain 
amount  of  gossip ;  that  people  should  speak  of  them  as  "  good 
friends"  and  inseparable.  Beyond  that  she  did  not  want 
people  to  go,  realizing  that  those  who  endeavored  to  maintain 
their  social  footing  on  the  dizzy  pinnacle  of  notoriety  were 
in  danger  of  bad  falls.  She  desired  the  notoriety  and  the 
doubtful  status  it  gave  her  without  disastrous  consequences; 
and  lived  in  that  atmosphere  of  blind  confidence  which 
always  surrounds  the  social  transgressor. 

Like  many  a  woman  with  her  head  in  the  sand,  she  believed 
herself  completely  hidden  from  curious  observation,  and  she 
did  not  know  either  what  people  were  saying  or  how  much 
they  really  knew.  What  the  governess  had  said  was  the  first 
intimation  that  people  were  saying  ugly  things.  If  her  own 
servants  talked  so  openly,  then  the  matter  was  serious ;  for  a 
servant's  lie  is  commonly  accepted  as  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Jack  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  silent  after  her 
husband's  last  words.  He  waited  for  her  to  speak.  Of 
course  she  must  make  light  of  the  matter  in  some  way,  as  it 

[195] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

was  the  only  thing  she  could  do;  but  her  voice  sounded 
forced  and  artificial  as  she  said : 

"  She  did  not  mean  it.  It  is  ridiculous.  But  if  she  said 
such  an  absurd  thing,  we  will  discharge  her.  Harold  might 
have  misunderstood  her." 

" She  tried  to  lie  out  of  it;  I  was  there." 

"I  —  I  will  send  for  her  at  once." 

"One  thing  more,  since  we  are  on  this  subject."  John 
Wilton  spoke  slowly  and  with  an  effort.  No  one  knew  how 
hard  it  was  for  him  to  talk  of  anything  like  this.  He  seemed 
to  feel  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  do  so,  as  if  his  wife  might  sus 
pect  some  selfish  motive,  a  desire  to  claim  her  affection  against 
her  will.  "I  received  this  letter  this  afternoon.  I  would 
have  destroyed  it  immediately  if  it  had  not  been  for  what  that 
governess  said  to  Harold;  but  if  people  are  talking  I  think 
you  ought  to  know,  for  your  own  sake  —  and  Harold's." 

He  handed  her  the  sheet  of  notepaper  with  its  irregularly 
pasted  letters.  She  read  the  words  slowly,  but  instead  of 
being  more  terrified,  by  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  she  be 
came  furious, —  furious  to  think  he  would  pay  any  attention 
to  an  anonymous  letter,  furious  to  think  she  should  be 
made  the  subject  of  that  sort  of  an  attack.  Jumping  up,  she 
shook  the  letter  in  his  face,  screaming :  "  How  dare  you  show 
me  this  nasty,  miserable  letter  ?  How  dare  you  ?  There !  — 
there !  —  there !  "  and  she  tore  the  sheet  of  paper  into  a 
hundred  pieces  and  threw  them  in  his  face,  stamping  her 
foot  with  rage  as  she  did  so. 

Wilton  was  always  afraid  of  his  wife  when  in  one  of  her 
fits  of  temper;  he  felt  she  might  do  anything,  for  she  was 
like  a  mad  beast.  Once  she  had  thrown  a  paper-weight 
which  just  missed  hitting  him,  and  crashed  into  the  wall  at 

[196] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

his  back ;  and  more  than  once  she  had  smashed  things  in  fits 
of  ungovernable  rage.  These  moods  were  usually  followed 
by  a  flood  of  tears,  and  now  he  waited  silently  for  the  reac 
tion;  to  say  a  word  would,  he  knew,  merely  add  fuel  to  the 
already  white-hot  flame. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  glaring  at  him,  then  her  features 
became  convulsed,  and  with  a  sob  she  threw  herself  on  the 
bed,  crying  hysterically. 

Wilton  left  the  room. 

When  Mrs.  Jack  came  to  herself  so  she  could  think, 
she  knew  she  must  do  something  about  the  governess,  but 
what  could  she  say  to  her  ?  WTiat  reason  could  she  give  for 
discharging  her?  She  could  not  tell  her  it  was  on  account 
of  what  she  had  said  to  Harold;  that  was  something  she 
could  not  discuss  with  the  girl, —  but  what  could  she  say  ? 
Perhaps  there  would  be  no  need  of  giving  any  reason.  The 
girl  might  want  to  go.  Doubtless  she  did,  for  otherwise 
she  would  not  have  acted  so.  That  seemed  so  plausible 
that  she  felt  more  at  ease.  She  hastily  picked  up  the  pieces 
of  the  letter  from  the  floor,  and  rang  for  the  governess,  all 
the  time  trying  to  reassure  herself  by  mentally  repeating, 
"  Of  course  the  girl  knew  nothing ;  of  course  not ;  how  absurd  ! 

Nothing  escaped  the  keen  eyes  of  the  governess  as  she 
entered  the  room  as  stealthily  as  a  cat.  She  knew  there  had 
been  a  scene  between  husband  and  wife,  and  she  was  sure 
she  had  been  the  cause  of  it.  Yet  no  one  could  have  told 
from  her  expression  that  she  noticed  anything  at  all  unusual ; 
her  self-possession  was  perfect. 

Without  turning  from  the  dressing-table  where  she  sought 
to  appear  as  if  rearranging  her  hair,  Mrs.  Jack  said  abruptly: 

"Mademoiselle,  I  am  sorry,  but  we  shall  have  to  make 
[197] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

a  change.     I  shall  not  need  your  services  any  longer.     I 
will  pay  you  a  month  ahead. " 

Without  betraying  the  slightest  emotion,  the  young  woman 
asked  in  her  broken  English: 

"Pardon,  Madame,  but  may  I  ask  why  I  am  deesmis'  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  We  —  that  is,  Mr.  Wilton  and  I  —  think 
Harold  does  not  need  a  French  governess  just  now. " 
Mrs.  Jack  was  so  confused  that  she  could  see  her  own  con 
fusion  in  the  mirror,  and  was  glad  it  stood  at  such  an  angle 
that  the  governess  could  not  see  her. 

"I  am  surprise'  Madame  deed  not  know  zis  morning." 
She  was  so  exasperatingly  cool  and  collected  that  it  irritated 
Mrs.  Jack. 

"  I  talked  with  Mr.  Wilton  this  afternoon.  It  is  sufficient 
that  we  have  decided." 

"  Perhaps  Monsieur  haf  tol'  Madame  —  somezing  ?  " 
The  accent  on  the  "  somezing  "  was  disagreeably  significant. 

"Yes;  he  did  tell  me  something,"  was  the  sharp  retort. 
Mrs.  Jack  forgot  herself,  but  paused  in  time;  she  did  not 
care  to  go  into  that  matter. 

The  governess  waited  without  moving,  but  there  was  a 
hard  look  about  her  eyes. 

"  Somezing  I  said  to  —  "  she  said  interrogatively,  but  Mrs. 
Jack  interrupted  her  sharply : 

"There  is  no  need  of  discussing  the  matter,  Mademoi 
selle." 

"  But  eef  ze  ladies  ask  me  why  I  go,   how  s'all  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  say,"  Mrs.  Jack  answered  irritably, 
her  nerves  giving  away  under  the  continued  stress. 

"Ver'  well,  Madame."  The  response  came  slowly,  as 
if  the  girl  were  trying  to  find  words  to  express  herself  to  the 

[198] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

point.  "I  can  tell  ze  ladies  I  was  deesmis'  because  I  haf 
seen  Madame  and  Monsieur  Delaney  togedder  so  ver'  often, 
and  zat  I  know  — " 

"Stop!"  Mrs.  Jack  was  panic-stricken  at  the  change 
that  came  over  the  face  she  saw  in  the  mirror.  Was  it  pos 
sible  those  pale  and  terror-stricken  features  belonged  to  her  ? 
Why  did  she  look  so  guilty  ?  She  did  not  dare  turn  around 
and  face  the  girl  for  fear  she,  too,  would  see. 

"  Stop!  "  she  repeated,  with  an  effort  at  indignation ;  "  not 
another  word.  So  this  is  the  return  you  make  for  all  I  have 
done  for  you." 

"It  ees  Madame  who  sen'  me  away.  I  like  to  stay  wiz 
Madame,  but  eef  I  go  I  mus'  tell  w'at  I  haf  see'."  The 
tone  was  humble,  and  yet  the  threat  so  plain  that  Mrs.  Jack 
understood  perfectly:  the  price  of  her  silence  was  an  easy 
position;  if  discharged  she  would  make  trouble. 

"  Go  to  your  room.  I  will  consider  the  matter.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Wilton  will  —  but  go!  go!  go!"  She  could  stand  the 
strain  no  longer,  and  her  voice  rose  almost  to  a  shriek.  The 
girl  knew  she  had  won,  and  with  a  soft,  "  Merci,  Madame," 
glided  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

During  the  entire  interview  Mrs.  Jack  had  not  turned 
from  where  she  stood  before  her  dressing-table,  her  hand 
mechanically  attempting  to  arrange  her  disordered  hair;  but 
she  no  sooner  heard  the  door  close  than  she  whirled  about 
and  walked  back  and  forth  like  a  caged  beast  seeking  a 
possible  place  of  escape.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I 
do  ?  "  she  kept  repeating  monotonously.  Then  she  tried  to 
reassure  herself  by  arguing : 

"  She  knows  nothing.  She  can't  know  anything.  There 
is  nothing  for  her  to  know.  It  is  all  absurd.  Why  should 

[199] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

I  be  afraid  ?  "  But  another  voice  whispered :  "  She  would 
talk,  and  people  would  believe  her.  People  always  believe 
anything  against  a  woman.  Besides,  there  is  the  letter,  that 
anonymous  letter.  Who  could  have  sent  it  ?  Some  jealous 
woman  ? "  She  ran  over  in  her  mind  all  her  acquaint 
ances,  and  all  Delaney's  so  far  as  she  knew  them.  It  might 
be  this  one,  or  that  one,  or  the  other  one, —  yes,  it  might  be 
any  one  of  half  a  dozen  women  she  could  think  of,  not  one  of 
whom  would  hesitate  to  do  a  mean  and  malicious  thing  to 
make  her  uncomfortable,  if  there  was  no  chance  of  exposure. 
Still  the  trouble  was  with  the  governess,  not  the  letter:  why 
should  she  care  who  sent  that  contemptible  note  ?  Any 
woman  might  be  made  the  victim  of  that  sort  of  an  attack; 
no  one  would  pay  much  attention  to  an  anonymous  letter. 
But  the  governess, —  what  could  she  do  about  her  ?  She 
did  not  dare  discharge  her.  Even  if  she  had  said  things  to 
Harold  she  ought  not  to  have  said,  she  would  not  do  that 
again.  No,  she  would  not  discharge  her  at  present,  but  she 
would  find  a  way  to  get  rid  of  her  without  incurring  her 
ill-will.  Mrs.  Jack  persuaded  herself  such  a  course  was 
feasible,  and  she  felt  easier. 

When  her  husband  came  into  her  room  just  before  dinner 
and  asked  her  what  she  had  done,  she  was  more  composed, 
and  explained  it  was  not  possible  to  send  the  governess  off 
without  some  notice;  that  such  a  course  would  cast  such  a 
reflection  upon  the  girl  she  would  not  be  able  to  get  another 
place. 

"But  I  will  pay  her  a  month  or  two  ahead,  and  her 
expenses  to  New  York, —  anything  to  get  her  out  of  the  city," 
exclaimed  Wilton. 

"That  would  hardly  do.  Every  one  would  know  she 
[200] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

was  discharged  for  some  reason.     Besides,  she  would  talk. 
Leave  it  to  me  and  I  will  manage  it  somehow." 

"I  told  Harold  she  should  go  to-day,"  Wilton  said,  as 
if  keeping  his  word  to  the  boy  was  of  more  importance  than 
anything  else. 

"  Well,  you  should  n't  have  told  him  anything  of  the  kind," 
his  wife  retorted  impatiently;  "it  is  none  of  his  business." 

Wilton  thought  it  concerned  the  little  fellow  more  than 
any  one  in  the  house,  but  he  knew  from  his  wife's  tone  there 
was  no  use  saying  anything  more.  Moreover,  he  felt  that 
possibly  it  would  be  wiser  to  get  rid  of  the  girl  without  a 
scene.  To  discharge  her  because  she  said  his  wife  did  not 
love  him  would  set  every  one  laughing,  and  saying  the  girl 
had  simply  told  the  truth.  The  resolution  so  firmly  taken  in 
the  nursery  seemed  to  melt  away  before  these  various  con 
siderations;  he  would  have  to  explain  to  Harold  that  every 
thing  would  be  arranged  by  and  by.  Meanwhile  the  little 
fellow  should  not  be  with  the  governess, —  that  much  he 
would  insist  upon. 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  letter.  His  wife  did 
not  mention  it,  and  he  did  not  care  to  occasion  another 
scene  by  referring  to  it,  though  he  did  go  so  far  as  to  suggest 
in  a  mild  and  deferential  tone : 

"  Would  it  not  be  wise,  Sally, —  on  Harold's  account,  I 
mean, —  to  see  less  of  Delaney  ?  He  's  a  good  fellow,  I 
know,"  he  hastened  to  add,  noting  the  expression  on  his 
wife's  face,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  have  him  come  here,  but,  on 
Harold's  account  — " 

She  turned  on  him  furiously :  "  Never  mind  Harold.  You 
need  n't  hide  behind  him.  If  you  are  jealous,  speak  for 
yourself  without  sneaking  behind  the  child." 

[201] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

His  face  flushed,  but  he  said  quietly:  "I  am  not  jealous, 
Sally.  I  have  never  interfered  with  your  pleasures,  and  I  'm 
glad  to  have  you  have  a  good  time,  but  the  boy  is  old  enough 
to  notice  things,  and  if  the  servants  talk  he  will  be  sure  to — ' 
"Servants  talk'!"  she  screamed,  echoing  his  words; 
"  let  them  talk :  what  do  I  care  ?  I  can  take  care  of  myself, 
and  I  will  see  as  much  of  Lawrence  Delaney  as  I  please." 

She  approached  him  and  shook  her  finger  in  his  face  as  if 
she  would  like  to  strike  him,  her  eyes  small,  and  her  features 
bearing  the  expression  of  rage  that  made  her  look  like  a 
vicious  little  beast. 

Wilton  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  He  looked  down  at 
the  floor  and  unconsciously  began  once  more  to  try  to  make 
the  corner  of  the  rug  lie  flat.  It  flashed  over  him  he  had 
tried  to  do  the  same  thing  every  time  he  had  a  dispute  with 
his  wife,  and  this  thought  diverted  him  for  an  instant,  but  he 
frowned  and  concentrated  his  mind  upon  the  situation 
which  confronted  him.  His  silence  did  not  tend  to  mollify 
his  wife;  on  the  contrary,  it  rasped  her;  it  always  irritated 
her.  Anger  is  a  flame  which  feeds  on  all  kinds  of  fuel. 

"If  you  have  nothing  more  to  say  I  wish  you  would  go 
and  leave  me  alone,"  she  exclaimed. 

He  arose  without  a  word  and  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Jack  sent  word  that  she  would  not  be  down  to 
dinner.  When  her  sister  came  to  inquire  what  was  the 
matter,  she  did  not  let  her  in,  but  simply  said  she  had  a  bad 
headache  and  was  going  to  bed  early. 

That  night  when  Wilton  went  in  to  kiss  his  boy  good 
night,  the  little  fellow  said : 

"Papa,  s'e  is  n't  dawn." 

"No;  not  yet,  Major,  but  very  soon." 
[202] 


An  Anonymous  Letter 

"I  fought  'oo  said  s'e  would  do  to-day." 
"  So  I  did ;  but  you  see,  Major,  mamma  can't  manage  il 
to-day,  but  by-and-bye.     You  won't  have  to  speak  French 
with  her  any  more.     Nora  will  look  out  for  you." 

The  Major  liked  Nora,  and  the  prospect  of  her  companion 
ship  and  the  promise  of  no  more  French  appealed  to  him. 
He  did  not  care  how  long  Mademoiselle  remained  in  the 
house  provided  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  her;  though  with 
a  child's  inherent  despotism  he  would  have  liked  very  much 
to  see  her  put  out  bag  and  baggage, —  that  would  have 
satisfied  his  primitive  sense  of  justice. 


[203] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

EFFORTS  TOWARD  COMPROMISE 

ON  the  second  of  August  the  teamsters  went  out  at 
the  Yards.  The  firemen  followed  in  sympathy,  and 
as  the  engineers  refused  to  work  with  non-union 
firemen,  the  shut-down  was  practically  complete  at  all  the 
large  plants. 

The  Yards  were  a  law  unto  themselves.  For  years  the 
growth  and  prosperity  of  the  city  had  been  so  dependent 
upon  the  development  of  the  great  packing  industries,  that 
they  were  looked  upon  with  special  favor,  and  enjoyed  many 
immunities  and  privileges  not  accorded  lesser  enterprises. 
Once  when  the  great  packers  threatened  to  withdraw  and 
establish  new  Yards  just  across  the  line  in  Indiana,  it  so 
frightened  not  only  the  city  but  the  railroads  centring  in 
Chicago,  that  concessions  were  immediately  made  to  placate 
the  great  companies. 

As  against  the  public,  the  Yards  ordinarily  presented  a 
solid  front;  as  between  themselves,  employers  and  employees 
were  on  terms  of  more  or  less  open  hostility  most  of  the 
time.  When,  however,  this  condition  of  hostility  assumed 
the  phase  of  open  warfare  in  the  shape  of  a  strike,  with  all 
its  incidental  lawlessness,  both  sides  promptly  appealed  to 
the  city  for  aid  and  to  the  public  for  sympathy.  In  the  heat 
of  the  controversy  grave  disclosures  affecting  public  health 
and  safety  were  made.  Each  side  accused  and  betrayed 
the  other;  and  for  the  time  being  it  seemed  as  if  the  devious 

[204] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

and  lawless  ways  of  the  Yards  were  about  to  be  exposed. 
But  just  as  the  highly  inflamed  indignation  of  the  public 
was  getting  ready  to  take  concrete  form  in  the  shape  of  in 
dictments  and  prosecutions  of  the  guilty  parties,  all  contro 
versies  were  adjusted,  all  recriminations  suddenly  ceased, 
all  solicitude  for  the  general  welfare  evaporated,  and  the 
Yards  once  more  retired  within  itself,  and  went  on  with  its 
ancient  practices.  The  men  who  were  fiercest  in  denounc 
ing  their  employers  for  violating  all  the  ordinances  of  the 
city  and  most  of  the  laws  of  the  State,  were  the  first  to  op 
pose  the  authorities  when  they  attempted  to  meddle. 

Considering  the  atmosphere  in  which  their  working  lives 
were  spent,  the  atmosphere  of  indifference  to  and  contempt 
for  the  law,  it  is  small  wonder  that  the  men  felt  as  if  they 
could  do  as  they  pleased;  that,  like  their  employers,  they 
might  obey  or  not  obey  the  law,  as  they  saw  fit.  The  only 
law-making  bodies  with  power  to  enforce  their  decrees  the 
men  knew  anything  about  were  their  labor  unions.  These 
were  potent  organizations,  trying  offenders  in  secret  and 
executing  them  in  alleys,  in  the  streets,  even  in  the  street 
cars, —  anywhere  and  everywhere  the  thug  and  the  slugger 
could  reach  them.  It  was  all  well  enough  to  talk  about  police 
protection,  but  there  were  not  policemen  enough  in  the  city 
to  follow  each  man  to  his  home  and  guard  him  day  and  night. 
Besides,  every  one  knew  most  of  the  police  were  in  sympathy 
with  the  unions. 

Hence  it  was  that  when  the  teamsters  were  called  out 
they  went,  to  a  man,  though  few  knew  why,  and  though  the 
great  majority  were  satisfied  and  did  not  wish  to  quit  work. 

There  was  talk  of  a  readjustment  of  the  scale  of  wages 
and  better  hours.  The  officers  of  the  union  formulated 

[205] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

their  demands,  presented  them  to  the  packers,  and  caused 
them  to  be  published  in  the  papers,  together  with  long  state 
ments  tending  to  show  that  the  men  were  worked  and  treated 
worse  than  slaves ;  that  the  average  weekly  wage  of  an  able- 
bodied  driver  was  so  low  he  could  not  hope  to  support  a 
family  decently;  and  that  his  hours  of  work  were  so  long  he 
was  given  no  time  for  such  rest  and  recreation  as  is  an  es 
sential  part  of  the  gospel  of  relaxation  preached  to-day. 

These  harrowing  pictures  were  met  by  the  employers. 
In  joint  session  they  appointed  an  official  mouthpiece  and 
press-agent,  who  compiled  endless  figures  to  prove  that  the 
teamsters  were  among  the  favored  sons  of  industry,  and  that 
they  received  so  much  and  did  so  little  most  of  them  had 
become  fat  and  lazy. 

Each  side  had  its  measure  of  truth.  There  were  team 
sters  who  were  lean  and  poor  in  both  senses  of  the  term; 
there  were  others  who  were  well  paid,  well  fed,  fat,  and  lazy; 
but  each  side  lied  so  about  the  other  that  it  was  impossible 
to  get  at  the  truth.  However,  the  public,  as  usual,  entered 
into  the  controversy  with  zest,  and  fanned  the  flame.  The 
papers  published  columns  of  stuff,  the  exaggerations  of  the 
reporters  being  treated  as  sober  truths  in  ponderous  editorials 
which  few  read  and  none  heeded.  Numerous  conferences 
were  held  for  the  sake  of  publicity  rather  than  for  agree 
ment  :  there  were  conferences  at  which  both  sides  were  repre 
sented,  there  were  conferences  at  which  only  one  side  was 
represented,  and  there  were  conferences  where  no  one  was 
present,  which  took  place  only  in  the  overworked  imagina 
tions  of  the  representatives  of  the  press. 

Some  enterprising  young  women  connected  with  the 
Ruskin  Settlement,  rushing  in  where  angels  feared  to  tread, 

[206] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

simplified  matters  by  suggesting  to  the  packers  that  they 
not  only  yield  all  the  men  asked,  but  go  farther  and  grant 
all  that  the  young  women  thought  the  men  ought  to  ask. 

The  social  reformer  is  ever  aggressive,  and  in  the  person 
of  the  young  woman  she  is  irrepressible.  The  man  who 
is  going  to  reform  the  world  is  content  to  harangue  the 
multitude  from  the  street  corners,  or  at  most  to  insinuate  a 
leaflet  —  with  a  request  for  a  subscription  —  between  door 
and  sill;  but  the  young  woman  formulates  her  theories  in 
the  club,  and  lays  them  hot-baked  upon  the  desk,  or  quite 
as  likely  on  the  lap,  of  the  offending  tyrant.  She  invades 
his  office,  pursues  him  to  his  home,  dogs  his  footsteps,  inter 
rupts  his  meals,  spoils  his  digestion.  She  will  not  be  denied. 
If  she  is  pretty  no  one  wishes  to  deny  her;  but  unhappily, 
she  is  not  often  pretty.  Handsome  women  so  seldom  try 
to  reform  the  world;  the  historical  rumor  is  to  the  contrary. 
Beauty  and  reform  never  go  far  hand  in  hand  without  the 
latter  succumbing.  Indeed,  a  woman's  zeal  for  social 
regeneration  has  been  said  to  be  invariably  inverse  to  her 
good  looks. 

The  Ruskin  Settlement  was  an  oasis  in  a  desert  of  poverty, 
wretchedness,  and  vice;  a  leavening  influence  in  a  seething 
mass  of  degradation.  Its  band  of  earnest  workers  had 
increased  from  a  few  to  many.  Every  young  woman  who 
felt  she  had  a  mission,  and  every  young  man  who  felt  the 
attraction  of  young  women  with  missions,  joined  the  Settle 
ment  for  longer  or  shorter  periods,  according  to  the  strength 
of  the  conviction  and  the  attraction.  Not  infrequently  the 
young  women  and  the  young  men  merged  their  enthusiasms, 
and  devoted  their  combined  efforts  to  the  solution  of  the 
matrimonial  to  the  neglect  of  the  less  intricate  social  problem; 

[207] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

thereby  unconsciously  substituting  the  egoism  of  domesticity 
for  a  more  abstract  altruism. 

When  Miss  Higbee  Higginson  presented  herself  at  the 
office  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  as  the  duly  accredited  representative 
of  the  Settlement,  and  demanded  to  see  John  Ganton,  she 
would  not  be  denied.  There  was  no  use  telling  her  he  was 
out,  for  she  would  wait;  there  was  no  use  telling  her  he  was 
busy  and  could  not  see  her,  for  the  patience  and  pertinacity 
of  the  woman-reformer  outlives  all  engagements.  All  this 
was  known  in  the  office,  for  they  had  had  experiences  with 
representatives  of  the  Settlement  before,  and  knew  their 
characteristics.  Besides,  such  was  the  disposition  of  press 
and  public  toward  the  Settlement  that  to  refuse  to  see  a 
representative,  even  though  that  representative  were  a  young 
woman  who  knew  less  than  nothing  about  the  business  in 
which  she  was  meddling,  would  be  bad  policy.  Miss  Hig 
ginson,  therefore,  was  received  deferentially,  if  not  cordially. 

John  Ganton  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  wnth  his  waistcoat 
thrown  open  and  his  collar  unbuttoned  as  usual.  He  swung 
about  in  his  chair  as  Miss  Higginson  entered  and  seated 
herself  defiantly;  though  her  mission  was  supposed  to  be 
pacific,  her  manner  was  bellicose. 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,  Mr.  Ganton,  about  this  strike 
at  the  Yards."  Her  sharp,  shrill  voice  exasperated  the  old 
man.  He  had  no  use  for  reformers,  especially  reformers  in 
skirts ;  but  he  kept  his  temper  and  meekly  replied : 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"We  think  the  differences  should  be  arbitrated,"  she  con 
tinued. 

"  Who  are  '  we,'  ma'am  ?  " 

"The  Ruskin  Settlement,  Mr.  Ganton,"  she  answered 
[208] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

with  some  exultation  in  her  tone,  as  if  the  influence  and  power 
of  the  Ruskin  Settlement  were  too  well  known  in  the  commu 
nity  to  be  denied. 

"Oh!"  That  was  all  he  said.  Miss  Higginson  was 
uncertain  just  what  he  meant  by  the  ejaculation,  and  the 
doubt  annoyed  her,  so  she  repeated  with  additional  emphasis : 

"We  think,  Mr.  Ganton,  the  differences  should  be  arbi 
trated."  She  looked  at  him  sharply  through  her  eye-glasses 
to  note  the  effect  of  the  suggestion,  but  his  big  red  face  was 
impassive  to  the  point  of  dulness.  With  one  hand  he  fumbled 
the  papers  on  his  desk,  and  his  small  eyes  gazed  at  her  almost 
stupidly  from  beneath  the  bushy  sandy  eyebrows. 

"  What  differences  ?  "  the  question  struck  her  as  extremely 
stupid 

"What  differences!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why  the  differ 
ences  between  you  and  the  men." 

"  And  what  are  they,  ma'am  ?  "  The  "  ma'am  "  annoyed 
her, —  in  the  depth  of  her  soul  she  clung  to  the  belief  she  was 
still  young. 

"You  know  what  the  differences  are,  Mr.  Ganton. 
There  is  no  need  for  me  to  enumerate  them." 

"You  will  confer  a  favor,  ma'am,  if  you  will  mention 
those  you  think  we  ought  to  arbitrate."  He  was  so  defer 
ential  in  his  manner  it  threw  her  off  her  guard,  and  she 
replied  somewhat  helplessly: 

"  I  can't, —  that  is,  I  am  not  prepared  to  enumerate  the 
differences  at  this  minute.  But,"  she  brightened  up,  "I 
can  confer  with  the  teamsters'  committee  and  let  you  know." 

"Oh!" 

"In  an  hour  perhaps,  anyway  not  later  than  this  after 
noon,"  she  continued  hopefully. 

[209] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"Oh!" 

"And  will  you  arbitrate  the  differences?  " 

"  Suppose  you  find  there  are  n't  any  ?  "  He  peered  at  her 
with  a  funny  expression  in  his  small  eyes,  which  did  not 
look  so  sleepy  and  stupid  now. 

"Oh,  but  there  are,  else  there  would  be  no  strike,"  she 
confidently  urged. 

"Suppose,  ma'am,  you  find  out  whether  there  are  any 
differences  and  what  they  are,  and  then  talk  about  arbitra 
tion.  You  might,"  he  accented  the  "  might "  significantly, 
"  conclude  the  men  are  in  the  wrong." 

"  Oh,  that  can't  be,"  she  exclaimed  impulsively. 

"  Why  not,  ma'am  ?  "  he  asked  sharply.  "  Why  can't 
the  men  be  in  the  wrong  as  well  as  the  employers  ?  You 
come  here  as  the  representative  of  the  Ruskin  Settlement 
and  demand  that  we  arbitrate  differences  you  know  nothing 
about,  when  you  do  not  even  know  differences  exist.  But 
you  assume  there  are  differences,  and  that  the  men  are  in  the 
right  and  we  are  in  the  wrong.  Your  notions  may  be  all 
right,  but  you  are  meddling  in  affairs  you  know  nothing  about. 
Before  you  make  suggestions  I  should  advise  you  to  make 
investigations,  and,"  he  added  significantly,  "  for  your  infor 
mation,  ma'am,  I  can  tell  you  a  strike  does  not  necessarily 
mean  that  there  are  differences  between  employer  and  em 
ployees  which  they  cannot  settle  themselves,  when  they  get 
good  and  ready  to  settle." 

Miss  Higbee  Higginson  was  chagrined.  She  was  even 
mortified  to  think  she  had  come  on  such  a  mission  without 
first  making  some  inquiries.  To  hide  her  embarrassment 
she  said  defiantly  as  she  rose  to  go : 

"  And  so,  Mr.  Ganton,  I  am  to  report  that  you  refuse  all 
[210] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

offers  of  mediation,  that  you  will  not  arbitrate,  that  you 
refuse  —  " 

"  You  may  say  whatever  you  —  '  the  old  man  caught 
himself  just  in  time,  "  please,  so  long  as  you  get  your  name 
in  the  papers  —  that  is  what  you  are  here  for.  You  and  the 
Ruskin  Settlement  want  a  little  free  advertising,  and  think 
this  is  a  good  time  to  get  it." 

The  old  man's  face  was  red  and  his  small  eyes  blazed 
with  anger.  He  had  intended  to  keep  cool ;  Browning  had 
urged  him  to  be  diplomatic,  but  it  was  no  use. 

Miss  Higbee  Higginson  was  just  a  little  frightened  and 
made  a  hasty  exit  from  the  small  office.  The  afternoon  papers 
all  had  big  "  scare  "  head-lines  to  the  effect  that  the  packers 
were  stubborn,  that  they  refused  all  offers  of  mediation  and 
arbitration,  that  they  were  bent  upon  disrupting  organized 
labor,  and  so  on,  with  sensational  accounts  of  the  rude  re 
ception  accorded  a  representative  of  the  Ruskin  Settlement, 
"  that  band  of  philanthropic  men  and  women,  enlightened 
experts  in  sociological  matters,  whose  influence  for  good  in 
the  community, "  and  so  on  —  and  on.  In  all  the  reports 
Miss  Higbee  Higginson  figured  prominently,  and  the  general 
impression  conveyed  was  that  she  had  covered  herself  with 
a  good  deal  of  glory  and  not  a  little  immortality  by  bearding 
the  packers  in  their  den,  and  demanding  justice  for  down 
trodden  employees. 

The  example  of  the  Ruskin  Settlement  was  contagious; 
a  strike  offers  exceptional  opportunities  for  self-exploitation 
and  notoriety. 

The  Common  Council  adopted  resolutions  appropriate  to 
the  emergency,  and  appointed  a  committee  to  wait  upon  the 
packers  —  always  upon  the  employers,  rather  than  upon  the 

[211] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

men  —  and  urge  such  concessions  as  would  immediately  end 
the  strike.  The  resolutions  did  not  contemplate  asking  the 
strikers — i.  e.,  the  voters  —  to  make  concessions,  it  being 
tacitly  assumed  they  were  not  only  right  in  their  attitude, 
but,  withal,  exceedingly  modest  in  their  demands. 

The  enterprising  secretary  of  the  National  Association 
for  Civic  Reform  came  on  from  Washington,  and  made  the 
strike  an  occasion  for  calling  a  national  conference  of  civic 
and  other  reformers  in  Chicago,  even  offering  to  intervene 
personally  and  officially  in  the  controversy,  with  a  view  to 
giving  it  the  prominence  it  deserved,  and  incidentally  work 
ing  out  a  solution  which  would  redound  to  the  credit  and 
profit  of  his  National  Association.  The  fact  that  he  was 
at  that  moment  offering  to  intervene  in  —  to  "  break  into," 
as  an  irreverent  labor  journal  put  it  —  seventeen  other 
strikes,  ranging  from  that  of  the  "  dock  wollopers "  in  San 
Francisco  to  that  of  the  bobbin-makers  in  Massachusetts, 
did  not  deter  him  from  facing  the  Chicago  situation.  His 
Association  had  as  officers  and  committeemen  prominent 
politicians  enough  to  settle  every  strike  in  the  country,  and 
could  furnish  any  number  of  arbitrators  or  conference  com 
mittees  on  telegraphic  notice,  as  they  were  kept  constantly 
on  hand  ready  for  every  emergency,  and  it  was  an  important 
part  of  his  business  to  find  or  create  the  emergencies. 

The  indefatigable  secretary  was  in  no  wise  discouraged 
when  the  packers  declined  his  proffered  services.  He  was 
used  to  that.  His  services  were  commonly  declined,  often 
without  thanks.  If  they  had  been  accepted  he  might  have 
been  at  a  loss  just  what  to  do,  since,  like  Miss  Higbee  Hig- 
ginson,  he  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  strike  was 
about,  and,  unlike  her,  he  did  not  care.  Inasmuch  as  his 

[212] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

services  were  declined,  he  knew  precisely  what  to  do.  He 
called  a  convention,  and  arranged  to  have  every  man  of 
prominence  in  the  city  who  courted  publicity  preside  at  some 
of  the  numerous  sessions,  act  as  one  of  the  two  hundred  vice- 
presidents,  read  a  paper,  or  deliver  an  address.  Such  was 
the  sagacity  of  the  experienced  secretary  that  no  one  was  over 
looked.  Politicians  of  national,  State,  and  local  importance 
were  to  be  present  in  name  or  person,  and  the  affair  speedily 
assumed  an  importance  that  quite  overshadowed  the  strike 
which  was  its  immediate  occasion.  In  fact,  the  strike  was 
forgotten;  and  when  the  great  convention  was  held,  lasting 
an  entire  day,  with  three  sessions,  and  a  banquet  the  follow 
ing  evening  as  a  sort  of  a  soft  afterglow,  only  two  speakers 
referred  to  the  strike,  and  these  were  hissed  for  trying  to 
destroy  the  supreme  harmony  of  the  occasion  by  introducing 
local  matters  into  debates  of  national  and  academic  mag 
nitude. 

Men  from  every  walk  in  life  were  gathered  upon  the  plat 
form:  labor-leaders  touched  elbows  with  hated  capitalists, 
preachers  with  the  politicians  they  denounced  from  their 
pulpits,  doctors,  lawyers,  and  merchants, —  all  were  there, 
and  each  was  subdued  to  the  occasion.  Utterances  assumed 
the  complimentary  and  negative  line  of  polite  conversations 
between  foes  who  happen  to  meet  at  a  friend's  dinner-table. 
Labor  and  capital  were  lauded  to  the  skies  as  indispensable 
to  and  dependent  upon  each  other.  Though  it  was  frankly 
conceded  that  both  might  make  mistakes,  no  speaker  went 
so  far  as  to  assert  that  either  had  ever  really  done  so.  If 
not  a  feast  of  reason  it  was  a  flow  of  soul.  The  head  of  the 
American  Workingmen's  Association  clasped  hands  with  the 
president  of  the  great  Bituminous  Trust,  and  in  his  address 

[2131 


Ganton  &  Co. 

spoke  eloquently  of  "  that  new  era,  the  dawn  of  which  is 
even  now  breaking  over  the  rugged  hilltops,  when  labor  and 
capital  shall  be  united,  and  shoulder  to  shoulder  stand 
triumphant  before  the  world."  That  was  the  key-note  of 
the  assembly,  and  each  speaker  played  his  little  variation  on 
the  theme.  The  only  discord  was  when  a  half-intoxicated 
delegate  from  the  Workingmen's  Club  of  Englewood  blurted 
out  the  question: 

"  How  about  this  strike  down  at  the  Yards  ?  " 

He  was  promptly  suppressed,  and  the  chairman  —  one 
of  the  leading  merchants  of  the  city  —  expressed  the  hope 
that  "  nothing  further  would  occur  to  mar  the  felicity  of  this 
great  occasion.  We  are  not  here,"  he  continued  grandly, 
"to  discuss  local  matters." 

"Then  what  the  hell  are  we  here  for?"  shouted  the 
obstreperous  delegate. 

The  chairman  paused  as  if  grieved,  and  continued  firmly : 
"We  are  here  to  discuss  questions  of  the  highest  general 
import,  questions  of  sociological  significance,  questions  — 
questions  —  "  the  chairman  lost  himself  in  the  breadth  of  his 
comprehension,  but  immediately  added,  grandiloquently, 
"questions  which  the  world  expects  us  to  answer." 

He  swept  his  arms  about  him  as  if  to  embrace  the  universe. 
There  was  a  hush,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Englewood  dele 
gate  remarked  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear: 

"Rot!" 

The  convention  was  considered  a  great  success;  before 
adjourning  it  passed  a  resolution  —  prepared  in  advance  to 
meet  such  an  emergency  —  complimenting  the  secretary  for 
his  patriotic  and  disinterested  efforts. 

The  proceedings  filled  columns  of  the  city  papers,  and 
[214] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

were  telegraphed  broadcast  by  the  Associated  Press.  The 
great  end,  publicity,  was  attained,  and  the  National  Asso 
ciation  for  Civic  Reform  had  accomplished  its  purpose. 
True,  it  had  not  brought  the  packers  and  the  teamsters 
together,  it  had  not  brought  any  particular  workman  nearer 
his  particular  employer,  it  had  not  attempted  either  of  these 
insignificant  ends;  but  it  had  brought  labor  and  capital 
together  on  the  same  platform,  where  they  could  indulge  in 
platitudes  to  the  edification  of  the  admiring  public. 

The  strike  was  made  the  subject  of  sermons  in  those 
churches  where  the  preacher,  too,  felt  the  need  of  publicity ; 
the  occasion  being  especially  fruitful  to  those  unattached 
divines  who  felt  so  personally  and  particularly  called  by  the 
Lord  that  they  could  not  be  restrained  within  established 
orders,  but  had  places  of  talk  of  their  own.  Every  American 
city  contains  a  number  of  these  zealous  spirits;  a  number 
directly  proportioned  to  the  population,  some  two  or  three 
to  the  million, —  for  more  the  papers  have  not  space.  They 
gather  their  texts  from  head-lines,  their  themes  from  the 
criminal  columns,  their  inspiration  from  the  events  of  the 
day,  and  they  not  only  keep  abreast  of  the  times,  but  now 
and  then  thump  it  familiarly  on  the  back.  They  attend 
meetings,  dinners,  conferences,  and  conventions,  deliver 
long  invocations,  speak  when  called  upon,  and  if  not  called 
upon  speak  just  the  same;  the  narrow  confines  of  their 
pulpits  they  find  irksome,  and  they  always  furnish  the  papers 
with  outlines  of  the  sermons  they  intend  to  deliver.  If  these 
worthy  men  could  have  agreed  they  would  undoubtedly 
have  called  upon  the  packers  in  a  body,  and  protested  against 
the  tyranny  of  capital,  but  unhappily  they  could  not  agree 
concerning  either  this  world  or  the  next.  Each,  therefore, 

[215] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

separately  took  it  upon  himself  to  settle  the  strike  by 
visiting  one  or  more  of  the  packers,  and  urging  arbitration 
or  some  other  popular  course.  Failing  in  this  mission,  each 
had  material  for  his  Sunday's  sermon  and  his  Monday's 
publicity.  When  the  strike  did  come  to  an  end,  and  without 
their  assistance,  down  in  their  hearts  they  regretted  the  loss 
of  good  material,  for  there  is  no  use  fulminating  against 
capital  when  labor  says  it  is  satisfied;  when  the  lion  and 
the  lamb  lie  down  together  the  occupation  of  the  shepherd 
is  gone. 

When  one  of  the  independent  pastors  forced  his  way  into 
the  house  of  George  Borlan,  and  urged  the  settlement  of  the 
strike,  talking  about  the  needs  of  the  workingman  and  the 
beneficent  influence  of  the  unions,  Borlan  lost  all  patience, 
and  in  his  nervous  way  answered: 

"Unionism  stands  for  corruption,  lawlessness,  and  plun 
der.  It  stands  between  the  employee  and  the  employer  with 
itching  palm  ready  to  take  the  bribe  it  demands.  It  has 
destroyed  every  relation  of  confidence,  good-will,  and  esteem 
between  master  and  man.  It  has  reduced  labor  to  a  com 
modity  to  be  dealt  in  wholesale.  It  has  destroyed  the  indi 
viduality  of  the  workman  by  denying  him  the  right  to  work 
when,  where,  and  for  whom  he  pleases,  as  long  as  he  pleases, 
and  for  the  wages  he  pleases.  It  denies  the  right  of  the 
coming  generation  to  work  by  curtailing  the  number  of 
apprentices.  It  denies  the  right  of  the  ambitious  workman 
to  get  on  by  limiting  the  amount  of  work  he  shall  do  each  day. 
It  does  all  it  can  to  prevent  a  man  from  working  at  more  than 
one  trade,  fining  the  gas-fitter  if  he  does  the  work  of  the 
plumber,  the  bricklayer  if  he  puts  a  few  stones  in  place,  the 
painter  if  he  hangs  a  strip  of  wall-paper.  The  history  of 

[216] 


Efforts  Toward  Compromise 

mankind  knows  no  tyranny  so  arbitrary,  so  complete,  so 
oppressive  and  heartless,  as  that  of  the  modern  trades  union 
over  its  terrorized  members. " 

"  Would  you  destroy  the  unions  ? "  asked  the  amazed 
pastor. 

"Destroy  them!"  Borlan  exclaimed  as  he  paced  to  and 
fro.  "  Why  should  I,  as  an  employer,  destroy  them  ?  They 
cause  us  some  inconvenience  now  and  then,  but  it  is  cheaper 
for  us  to  buy  a  few  leaders  than  deal  with  all  our  men." 

"I  am  surprised,  Mr.  Borlan,  to  hear  that  the  employers 
descend  to  such  corruption. " 

"  Corruption !  Corruption ! "  Borlan  fairly  shouted ;  "  it  is 
not  we  who  corrupt.  You  can't  corrupt  these  men, —  they 
are  rotten  to  the  core  before  they  ever  come  to  us.  They  get 
their  positions  because  they  are  rotten,  because  unionism  is 
rotten  and  needs  rotten  agents  to  perform  its  dirty  work. 
The  theory  of  unionism  is  rotten,  and  therefore  the  practice 
must  be  rotten;  the  men  choose  their  own  representatives, 
and  we  deal  with  them  on  their  own  terms.  It  is  not  for  us 
to  tell  them  they  are  corrupt,  for  the  men  know  it,  their 
unions  know  it,  and  the  court  records  show  it.  If  one  of 
these  men  is  convicted  of  selling  out  his  union,  and  sentenced 
to  the  penitentiary,  is  he  repudiated  by  the  unions  ?  No ; 
and  you  know  it.  He  is  hailed  as  a  martyr,  reelected  to 
office,  welcomed  as  a  hero,  and  greeted  with  wild  applause 
by  every  union  gathering  where  he  appears.  Why  should 
we  expose  and  convict  when  it  is  cheaper  and  more  popular 
to  buy  ?  Go  about  in  the  union  headquarters  down  town , 
and  you  will  soon  learn  who  are  running  this  strike.  Three 
men,  just  three  men,  have  the  matter  in  the  hollow  of  their 
hands." 

[217] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  If  that  be  so,  Mr.  Borlan,"  the  worthy  pastor  interrupted 
with  some  emphasis,  "and  they  are  as  corrupt  as  you  say, 
why  have  n't  you  paid  them  and  stopped  the  strike  ?  "  The 
good  man  smiled  at  the  dilemma  in  which  he  thought  he 
placed  Borlan ;  the  latter  hesitated  a  moment,  and  said : 

"You  are  now  talking  of  matters  which  do  not  concern 
you.  All  I  can  say  is  the  packers  are  not  in  business  for  their 
health,  and  they  are  not  fighting  strikes  as  a  matter  of  prin 
ciple.  When  they  get  ready  to  settle  the  strike  it  will  come 
to  an  end,  and  not  before.  Meanwhile  you  and  your  asso 
ciates  can  go  on  patting  the  unions  on  their  backs;  but 
don't  forget  that  a  short  time  ago  you  were,  every  man  of 
you,  denouncing  the  livery  drivers'  union  for  striking  and 
interfering  with  weddings  and  funerals, —  your  business ; 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  driver,  the  wage-earner,  what 
difference  does  it  make  whether  he  hauls  a  corpse,  or  a 
bridegroom,  or  sugar-cured  hams  ?  Why  have  not  the  livery 
drivers  the  same  right  to  strike  and  make  it  warm  for  '  scabs  ' 
who  take  their  places  at  funerals,  as  our  teamsters  ?  If  inde 
cent  —  as  you  all  shouted  from  your  pulpits  —  to  interfere 
with  the  burial  of  the  dead,  is  it  not  doubly  indecent  and  crim 
inal  to  interfere  with  the  cartage  of  food  for  the  living  ?  " 

The  worthy  pastor  of  independent  and  sensational  pro 
clivities  was  greatly  shocked,  and  picking  up  his  hat  he 
hurriedly  left  the  house. 


[218] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  WORK  OF  THUGS 

THERE  was  rioting  in  the  streets  whenever  the  packers 
attempted  to  haul  goods  with  non-union  teamsters. 
The    police    endeavored  to  preserve  peace  with  the 
least  possible  interference  with  the  rioters.     Meanwhile  the 
price   of   meat   steadily   advanced   from   day   to  day,  and 
the  stock  accumulated  in  the  warehouses  was  being  disposed 
of  at  a  handsome  profit. 

Old  John  Ganton  had  numerous  conferences  with  Nor- 
berg;  of  all  the  conferences  held  in  the  city  these  were  the 
only  ones  which  really  meant  anything,  and  they  were  not 
reported  in  the  papers. 

One  evening  after  a  particularly  eventful  day,  wherein 
two  men  had  been  nearly  killed  and  many  severely  injured, 
Norberg  was  closeted  with  the  old  man  in  the  private  office. 

"The  tie-up  must  last  two  weeks  longer,  Norberg;  can 
you  rely  upon  Ballard  and  those  two  loafers,  Scotty  and 
Fanning  ?  " 

"  They  're  all  right.  The  leaders  will  keep  the  strike 
going  as  long  as  they  can.  The  teamsters'  union  alone  is 
taking  in  over  forty  thousand  dollars  a  week  in  contributions 
from  other  unions.  Mighty  little  of  that  money  will  the  rank 
and  file  get  hold  of." 

"Umph,"  the  old  man  grunted;  "so  that 's  their  game, 
is  it?" 

"That's  where  they  make  their  money;  strikes  pay 
nowadays." 

[219] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  We  need  n't  have  given  them  one  cent.  How  much  will 
they  collect  ?  " 

"If  the  strike  lasts  six  weeks,  the  teamsters  will  gather 
into  their  treasury  from  other  unions  between  two  and  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  at  the  very  least.  In  the  coal 
strike,  the  anthracite  union  started  out  with  less  than 
thirty  thousand  dollars  in  its  treasury,  and  when  the  strike 
was  called  off  they  had  nearly  a  million.  I  tell  you  this 
striking  business  is  profitable  for  every  one  but  the  men 
who  are  out  of  work,  and  for  the  public  that  foots  the  bills." 

"Well,  we  must  keep  up  a  show  of  doing  business  with 
non-union  men." 

"Even  if  a  few  do  get  slugged,"  Norberg  interrupted, 
smiling  deferentially. 

"That's  their  lookout;  we  shall  demand  more  police 
protection,  and  there  will  be  talk  of  calling  out  the  militia; 
but  you  tell  Ballard  and  the  rascals  with  him  to  keep  their 
organization  well  in  hand  and  stop  the  slugging.  Yesterday 
things  went  too  far." 

"  That 's  just  the  trouble,  Mr.  Ganton,  the  men  can't  be 
controlled.  They  take  the  matter  in  dead  earnest.  Besides, 
Borlan  Bros,  are  making  no  end  of  trouble.  They  are  going 
right  ahead  with  non-union  men,  and  say  they  will  never 
take  their  old  men  back  unless  they  quit  the  unions.  Allan 
Borlan  is  talking  pretty  plainly." 

"  Allan  Borlan  is  a  fool,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  shortly. 

"He  is  telling  some  pretty  plain  truths,  and  Ballard  is 
getting  ugly.  If  I  were  the  young  man  I  would  look  out. 
Ballard  has  more  ways  than  one  of  getting  even." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Xorberg  ? "  John  Ganton  looked 
sharply  at  the  stolid  face  of  the  man  before  him. 

[220] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

"  I  don't  know  anything,  of  course,  but  I  've  heard  'em 
talking,  and  the  gang  is  down  on  young  Borlan.  He  is  n't 
a  bad  fellow.  I  would  n't  like  to  see  him  come  to  harm. 
Could  n't  you  give  him  a  friendly  hint,  Mr.  Ganton,  to  keep 
his  mouth  shut  for  a  time  ?  " 

Even  Norberg  rather  liked  Allan  Borlan  for  his  fearlessness 
in  exposing  the  way  in  which  the  men  were  betrayed  by 
their  leaders,  and  no  one  knew  better  than  he  the  truth  of 
every  charge  made. 

"  It 's  no  use,  Norberg.  I  have  talked  with  him,  but 
he  's  as  stubborn  as  a  mule.  He  won't  join  us  in  anything. 
They  must  paddle  their  own  canoe,  but  — "  and  here  the 
old  man's  voice  became  sharply  peremptory,  "I  don't  want 
him  to  come  to  any  harm, —  do  you  hear  ?  Tell  those  fellows 
they  may  talk  as  much  as  they  please  and  fight  Borlan 
Bros,  all  they  want  to,  but  if  they  hurt  the  young  man  there  '11 
be  trouble." 

When  Norberg  warned  Ballard  not  to  go  too  far  with 
Allan  Borlan,  the  latter's  face  assumed  an  ugly  look.  "  Then 
tell  him  to  keep  his  mouth  shut,"  was  the  only  response. 

Contrary  to  his  usual  indifference  toward  what  did  not 
concern  himself  or  his  business,  John  Ganton  could  not  get 
out  of  his  mind  what  Norberg  had  said,  and  it  troubled  him 
so  much  that  at  length  he  told  Browning  to  send  for  young 
Borlan.  The  next  moment  he  was  irritated  with  himself 
for  doing  so. 

When  Allan  Borlan  entered  the  small  office,  the  keen  eye 
of  John  Ganton  could  see  in  the  young  man's  careworn  face 
the  effects  of  the  strain  he  was  under;  the  burden  of  the 
strike  had  fallen  on  his  shoulders.  "  You  got  us  into  it,  you 
must  fight  it  out,"  George  Borlan  had  said  at  the  outset. 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"  Sit  down,  Allan,  sit  down,"  the  old  man  said  in  a  friendly 
tone.  "  I  sent  for  you  to  warn  you  against  going  too  far  in 
talking  about  the  rascals  who  are  running  this  strike;  they 
are  a  bad  lot." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  them,  Mr.  Ganton,  and  they  know  it," 
was  the  firm  response. 

"All  the  more  danger.  They  don't  fight  in  the  open, 
and  they  'd  just  as  soon  hit  a  man  from  behind  as  not." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  At  the  same  time  I  thank  you 
for  your  interest."  There  was  a  pause.  Allan  Borlan  was 
on  the  point  of  saying  something.  He  hesitated,  but  at 
length  he  looked  up  and  said  slowly: 

"I  had  not  intended  coming  here  again,  Mr.  Ganton, 
but  you  sent  for  me,  and  now  that  I  am  here  I  can't  help 
telling  you  what  I  think."  The  old  man's  lips  were  pressed 
tightly  together  and  the  friendly  look  went  out  of  his  counte 
nance.  "You  and  the  other  packers  control  the  men  who 
are  running  this  strike,  and  you  have  them  under  pay.  You 
struck  our  plant  first  because  I  refused  to  join  with  you  and 
put  up  money,  and  you  are  willing  there  should  be  a  shut 
down  now  because  you  have  big  stocks  on  hand.  This  is  an 
employers'  strike,  not  a  labor  strike,  and  the  poor  devils 
who  are  out  of  work  and  wages  are  being  played  by  both 
sides.  Now,  who  are  responsible  for  the  disturbances,  the 
disorder,  the  riots,  the  assaults  ?  Are  the  three  loafers  who 
are  running  the  labor  end  responsible  or  the  employers  who 
control  them  ?  Are  —  " 

"Look  here,  young  man,  if  you  mean  to  insinuate  that 
I  —  that  I  — "  the  old  man's  face  was  purple  with  rage 
and  he  could  scarcely  speak,  "  you  may  go  to  —  hell  for  all 
I  care.  Get  out  of  here  now  —  clear  out!" 

[222] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

Without  another  word  Allan  Borlan  left  the  small  office. 
As  he  disappeared  through  the  door,  John  Ganton  swung 
around  in  his  chair  with  a  vicious  twist  and  looked  out  on 
the  street  below,  his  features  working,  muttering  to  himself. 
Yet  a  look  of  indecision  crept  into  his  features,  for  he  could 
not  rid  himself  entirely  of  the  feeling  that  Allan  Borlan  was 
right;  where  did  the  responsibility  rest? 

When  Norberg  came  in  about  five  o'clock  John  Ganton 
once  more,  and  this  time  more  emphatically,  told  him  to  warn 
the  leaders  against  violence.  "I  won't  have  it,"  he  almost 
shouted ;  "  if  they  don't  call  off  their  thugs  I  '11  land  them  in 
prison,  every  mother's  son  of  them." 

Night  and  day  Allan  Borlan  had  worked  with  feverish 
energy  to  keep  his  plant  going.  As  fast  as  the  employees 
of  one  department  after  another  quit  work  he  got  in  new 
hands  to  take  their  places.  These  he  housed  and  fed  in  the 
Yards,  but  they  were  so  inexperienced  that  the  work  went 
on  under  difficulties.  With  indefatigable  energy  he  was 
here  and  there  in  every  building,  in  every  room  from  the 
killing  to  the  shipping,  directing,  showing,  often  doing  the 
work  with  his  own  hands.  When  the  rioting  was  fiercest  he 
mounted  a  wagon,  and  without  the  slightest  hesitation  drove 
into  and  through  the  mobs  outside  the  gates,  against  the 
earnest  protestations  of  the  police,  choosing  the  streets 
where  the  danger  was  greatest.  Strangely  enough,  instead 
of  being  stoned,  he  was  cheered  by  the  strikers  themselves, 
and  when  some  young  toughs  started  to  throw  stones,  they 
were  so  roughly  treated  by  some  of  the  striking  teamsters 
that  thereafter  when  the  young  man  appeared  on  one  of  the 
wagons  he  was  allowed  to  pass  without  hindrance. 

[223] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

The  men  liked  Allan  Borlan, —  the  harder  he  fought  them 
the  better  they  liked  him,  all  except  the  leaders  he  denounced. 
These  scoundrels  hated  him  just  because  he  was  so  popular 
among  the  men,  because  the  men  trusted  him,  and  in  their 
hearts  felt  he  was  telling  the  truth  about  the  situation.  The 
more  intelligent  among  the  rank  and  file  began  to  talk  among 
themselves,  and  ask  what  the  strike  was  about  anyway,  and 
who  would  be  benefited  in  the  end,  wondering  where  all  the 
money  wras  going  that  was  being  contributed  each  wreek  by 
other  unions.  Some  said  this  amounted  to  ten  thousand 
dollars  a  week,  and  some  said  one  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
but  whether  ten  thousand  or  a  hundred  thousand  made  little 
difference, —  the  men  got  little  of  it. 

Two  or  three  relief  stores  had  been  opened  near  the 
Yards  early  in  the  strike,  but  the  supply  of  food  and  neces 
saries  quickly  gave  out,  and  the  families,  the  women  and 
children  who  most  needed  help,  never  seemed  to  get  anything. 
There  were  mutterings  and  discontent;  only  the  threats  of 
the  leaders  and  business  agents  kept  the  good  men  in  line,  the 
loafers  who  did  the  rioting  and  backed  up  the  professional 
toughs  and  sluggers  who  did  the  fighting,  all  these  were  well 
taken  care  of  from  some  mysterious  source.  They  had  plenty 
of  money,  as  every  saloon-keeper  in  the  vicinity  could  testify. 

No  one  did  so  much  to  spread  distrust  and  discontent 
among  the  men  as  Allan  Borlan.  He  lost  no  opportunity 
to  speak  to  them.  He  invited  conferences,  and  again  and 
again  laid  bare  the  inner  workings  of  the  strike.  He  did  not 
mince  matters,  but  named  the  leaders  who  had  sold  out 
their  unions;  his  bitterest  denunciations  being  directed 
against  Ballard,  who  received  from  his  spies  exaggerated 
reports  of  wThat  was  said. 

[224] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

So  great  an  impression  did  Allan  Borlan  make  that  at 
length  some  of  his  old  men,  men  with  families  dependent 
upon  them,  one  by  one  appeared  at  the  office,  tore  up  their 
union  cards,  and  asked  to  be  taken  back.  Among  the  first 
was  old  Mike. 

"  I  told  you,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys,  Mike,  that  if  you 
went  out  you  were  out  for  good,"  said  Allan  Borlan  to  the 
old  man  who  stood  before  him,  twisting  his  old  battered  hat 
in  his  hands,  a  pathetic  figure,  looking  more  poverty-stricken 
than  ever ;  "  but  if  any  of  you  want  to  come  back  as  indi 
viduals,  not  as  members  of  a  union,  you  can  come." 

"  I  have  to  find  work,  Mr.  Borlan.  There  are  too  many 
of  us  to  live  on  what  the  union  gives." 

"  Get  your  team  and  I  will  make  the  first  trip  with  you, 
to  see  you  safe  down  town." 

"There  's  no  need  of  that,  sorr,  I  can  go  alone."  The 
old  man  was  no  coward. 

"  I  'm  afraid  not,  Mike.     They  will  be  down  on  you." 

There  were  no  cheers  for  Allan  Borlan  as  he  rode  down 
beside  Mike.  He  noted  the  scowling  faces  and  ominous 
signs,  and  when  they  returned  he  asked  for  an  escort  of  police 
for  the  old  man. 

Another  trip  to  the  city  was  made  in  safety,  but  that  night 
when  Mike  boarded  a  car  just  outside  the  gates  to  go  home 
two  men  got  on  the  platform.  When  he  stepped  down  in 
front  of  the  little  old  frame  house,  hardly  more  than  a  shanty, 
where  he  lived,  one  of  the  men  came  up  behind  him,  the 
other  in  front.  The  one  in  front  said,  "  You  damned  scab, 
take  that!"  and  dealt  the  old  man  a  stunning  blow  in  the 
face.  Before  he  could  defend  himself  the  thug  behind 
grabbed  him  about  the  body,  pinning  his  arms  to  his  sides, 


Ganton  &  Co. 

holding  him  defenceless  against  the  ugly  blows  that  were 
rained  upon  his  bleeding  face  by  the  first  assailant.  Covered 
with  blood,  he  was  left  lying  unconscious  in  the  road,  where 
his  old  wife  and  daughter  found  him,  and  with  the  aid  of  the 
neighbors  carried  him  into  the  house.  In  spite  of  all  they 
could  do,  he  remained  unconscious  through  the  night,  and 
when  the  doctor  came  he  said  the  old  man's  skull  had  been 
fractured  by  something  heavier  than  a  man's  bare  fist. 
Before  the  ambulance  arrived  the  old  man  was  delirious. 
With  a  strong  brogue  he  talked  of  his  boyhood,  of  his  home 
in  Ireland,  of  the  days  when  he  courted  his  wife.  His 
mutterings  gradually  became  incoherent,  until  he  knew  no 
one  about  him,  not  even  the  little  grandchildren  who  stood 
half  frightened,  half  curious  by  the  rickety  old  couch.  Now 
and  then  he  said  something  about  the  strike,  but  his  voice 
fell  so  low  they  could  not  understand. 

Before  he  could  be  moved  to  the  County  Hospital  for  an 
operation,  the  old  man  died, —  the  first  victim  of  the  strike. 

When  Allan  Borlan  heard  of  the  cowardly  murder  his 
face  assumed  a  look  of  grim  determination.  Mounting  one 
of  the  wagons,  he  drove  straight  into  the  crowd  of  strikers 
assembled  without  the  gates.  The  news  of  Mike's  death 
had  spread  with  that  mysterious  rapidity  which  character 
izes  the  dissemination  of  bad  news,  until  every  one  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Yards,  even  the  most  ignorant  foreigners, 
knew  all  about  it.  There  was  some  exultation  on  the  part  of 
the  ugly  and  vicious,  but  for  the  most  part  the  strikers  them 
selves  were  depressed  and  silent;  Mike  had  been  a  well- 
known  figure  in  and  about  the  Yards  for  a  generation,  and  the 
men  liked  him,  besides  they  knew  how  sorely  he  needed  the 
work.  Therefore,  when  the  wagon  on  which  Allan  Borlan 

[226] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

was  standing  stopped  in  their  midst  and  he  began  speaking 
with  all  the  energy  and  all  the  bitterness  he  possessed,  they 
were  cowed  and  listened  without  a  murmur.  Even  Ballard, 
who  was  lounging  in  the  doorway  of  a  saloon  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  made  no  attempt  to  stay  the  torrent  of  denun 
ciation  which  was  poured  out  upon  the  unions  and  their 
methods. 

"Too  cowardly  to  fight  man  to  man  in  the  open,  you 
employ  thugs  and  murderers  to  do  your  work.  Like  a  pack 
of  whipped  curs,  you  cower  before  me.  Alone  and  unarmed 
I  am  in  your  midst,  and  not  one  of  you  dares  lift  his  hand 
against  me.  But  at  night,  in  the  darkness  of  alleys,  in  the 
shadows  of  buildings,  by  twos  and  threes,  you  and  your  paid 
thugs  lie  in  wait  for  an  unsuspecting  and  defenceless  victim. 
If  an  old  man,  or  a  boy,  or  a  woman,  your  courage  rises  to 
the  striking  point,  and  you  beat  and  maim  and  kill,  all  in  the 
name  of  your  unions;  for  all  that  is  foul  and  cowardly 
Chicago  has  become  a  byword  in  the  mouth  of  peace-loving 
people.  No  city  on  the  face  of  the  earth  has  been  so  dis 
graced,  so  humiliated,  so  injured  in  reputation  and  prosperity 
by  unionism,  as  Chicago.  It  is  shunned  by  decent  people 
as  a  resort  for  outlaws  and  criminals. 

"I  once  thought  there  was  some  good  in  labor  unions, 
that  some  good  might  grow  out  of  them,  and  I  stood  for 
them,  and  even  encouraged  their  organization.  Now  I  know 
I  was  wrong ;  now  I  know  they  are  rotten  and  corrupt  to  the 
core,  that  they  are  organized  and  controlled  to  suit  the 
selfish  ends  of  the  unscrupulous  demagogues  who  run  them, 
and  that  you,  the  rank  and  file,  have  nothing  to  say;  you  are 
terrorized  into  blind  obedience  to  orders.  You  strike  when 
you  are  told  to  strike,  and  you  work  when  you  are  told  to 

[227] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

work,  without  daring  to  question  or  protest.  You  are  bought 
and  sold,  and  you  know  it.  The  men  who  manage  your 
unions  get  rich  and  live  in  luxury.  Where  do  they  get  the 
money  ?  Out  of  your  earnings  and  out  of  the  employers 
they  blackmail  by  threats  of  ruin.  Show  me  a  labor  leader 
who  is  not  living  in  luxury,  who  is  not  openly  or  secretly 
laying  up  more  money  than  he  could  ever  earn  at  any  honest 
calling!  From  the  bottom  of  my  soul  I  pity  you,  robbed  of 
your  earnings,  of  your  employment,  driven  about  like  cattle, 
bought  and  sold  like  so  many  sheep,  deceived  and  cheated 
in  your  ignorance  by  unscrupulous  leaders,  you  stand  here 
to-day  conscious  that  the  blood  of  an  old  man,  a  man  you 
liked  and  who  liked  you,  is  on  your  heads.  That  he  was 
killed  at  the  command  of  your  leaders,  that  he  was  murdered 
by  your  paid  tools,  and  — "  pausing  a  second  with  uplifted 
arm  pointing  directly  at  Ballard,  "there,  there  in  that  door 
way,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as  smiling  as  a  fiend  from 
hell,  is  the  man  who  prompted  the  murder." 

Every  eye  in  the  crowd  was  turned  upon  Ballard.  Sur 
prised  by  the  suddenness  of  the  attack,  he  started,  withdrew 
his  hands  from  his  pockets,  and  turned  a  sickly  yellow.  He 
attempted  to  smile,  but  fear  and  rage  distorted  his  features. 
Losing  the  self-control  that  so  seldom  deserted  him,  he 
shook  his  fist  toward  Allan  Borlan,  muttered  something 
beneath  his  breath,  turned  quickly,  and  disappeared  within 
the  saloon. 

The  tension  was  so  great  that  an  audible  sigh  of  relief 
went  up  as  the  door  closed  behind  Ballard.  As  Allan  Bor 
lan  went  back  into  the  Yards  more  than  one  man  whispered 
to  his  neighbor,  "  I  should  n't  like  to  be  in  that  young  fellow's 
shoes,  Ballard  's  a  bad  one  when  he  gets  started." 

[228] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

"  What  do  you  think  he  '11  do  ?  "  asked  one  man. 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  But  if  I  were  Borlan  I  'd  keep  my  eye 
peeled  going  home." 

"And  steer  clear  of  alleys,"  was  the  significant  rejoinder. 

For  a  day  or  two  there  was  a  lull  in  hostilities.  All  of 
Borlan's  men  were  sorry  for  the  death  of  old  Mike,  and 
many  of  the  strikers  contributed  to  the  fund  raised  for  his 
widow  and  daughter.  A  committee  even  waited  upon 
Allan  Borlan,  and  in  rough  terms  expressed  their  regret  the 
old  man  had  been  killed,  presenting  at  the  same  time  a 
resolution  which  some  cleverer  hand  had  drawn,  to  the 
effect  that  "union  labor  condemns  lawlessness  as  contrary 
to  its  fundamental  principles,"  and  so  on. 

Allan  Borlan  listened  to  what  the  spokesman  of  the 
committee,  one  of  his  own  teamsters,  had  to  say.  He  read 
the  resolution,  and  the  curl  of  his  lips  showed  the  contempt 
he  felt. 

"I  believe  you  are  sincere,  boys,  in  your  regret  for  the 
death  of  Mike.  There  is  not  one  of  you  he  has  not  helped 
out  in  some  way;  there  was  n't  a  better  teamster  or  a  more 
loyal  friend  in  the  Yards.  He  did  not  want  to  quit,  but  he 
stood  by  you  and  obeyed  orders  until  his  family  was  starving. 
When  he  found  that  the  money  contributed  for  the  support 
of  the  strikers  did  not  reach  them,  that  he  could  not  pay  rent 
or  get  food  enough  to  keep  him  alive,  he  had  to  come  back 
to  work,  and  the  union  turned  its  paid  assassins  upon  him 
and  killed  him  in  cold  blood.  Now,  you  pass  this  lying 
resolution;  you  did  not  draw  it,  you  did  not  even  adopt  it, 
but  some  one  more  cunning  has  put  it  in  your  hands  to 
deliver  to  the  public.  Every  man  of  you  knows  as  well  as 
I  do  that  it  is  false.  Take  your  lying  resolution  back  to  the 

[229] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

man  who  drew  it  —  I  can  guess  his  name  —  and  tell  him 
from  me  he  is  a  murderer  in  his  heart,  and  the  blood  of  Mike 
is  on  his  cowardly  head." 

The  men  were  so  abashed  by  the  words  and  manner  of  the 
young  man,  that  without  attempting  any  reply  they  silently 
filed  out. 

George  Borlan  had  listened  from  an  inner  office,  and 
when  the  men  were  gone  he  said : 

"  What 's  the  use  of  talking  to  them  that  way,  Allan  ? 
It  can  do  no  good,  and  it  only  makes  bad  matters  worse." 

"  I  can't  help  it.     It  's  all  true,  every  word." 

"  That  may  be,  but  what 's  the  use  stirring  up  so  much 
ill-feeling  ?  We  '11  have  to  make  some  deal  with  them  in 
the  end." 

"  Never.  I  will  quit  the  business  before  I  will  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  these  unions,"  was  the  emphatic  response. 

George  Borlan  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  retired  into 
his  own  office,  but  on  the  way  home  that  night  he  urged: 

"You  had  better  be  careful  about  going  out  evenings. 
Those  fellows  have  it  in  for  you,  and  they  won't  stop  at 
anything." 

"  They  are  a  lot  of  cowards." 

"That  may  be,"  said  the  elder  brother  earnestly,  "and 
therefore  all  the  more  dangerous.  They  may  waylay  you 
anywhere." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  was  the  curt  response. 

"  Do  you  carry  a  pistol  ?  " 

"  No;  that  is  a  sign  of  cowardice.  When  I  carry  a  pistol 
I  will  join  the  police  force."  Allan  Borlan  had  profound  con 
tempt  for  men  who  carried  weapons.  In  his  mind  it  was  a 
confession  of  fear  and  lack  of  confidence  not  only  in  one's 

[230] 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

self,  but  in  the  community  generally.  "  It  reduces  us  all  to 
the  level  of  border  ruffians,"  he  remarked. 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  much  difference  between  Chicago  with 
a  strike  on  and  a  lawless  mining  camp.  Life  is  certainly  no 
safer,"  answered  his  brother. 

"If  I  lived  in  a  mining  camp  I  would  find  some  way  of 
protecting  myself  besides  carrying  a  bowie-knife  and  a  six- 
shooter,  like  a  drunken  tough." 

With  reckless  indifference,  Allan  Borlan  sought  excuses 
for  going  out  evenings.  He  attended  meetings  down  town, 
held  conferences  at  their  city  offices,  made  speeches,  pub 
lished  interviews,  and  in  every  possible  way  made  himself 
obnoxious  to  the  unions.  Notwithstanding  his  youth  and 
inexperience,  he  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  fight  against 
the  unions.  The  other  packers  contented  themselves  with 
a  show  of  opposition ;  they  were  so  little  aggressive,  that  the 
public  suspected  they  were  only  too  well  satisfied  with  the 
situation.  The  price  of  meat  was  steadily  advancing. 

Nearly  a  week  had  elapsed  since  the  death  of  old  Mike. 
There  had  been  no  additional  fatalities,  though  many  non 
union  men  had  been  viciously  assaulted,  and  a  few  union  slug 
gers  had  been  arrested.  These  had  been  either  discharged 
or  let  off  under  suspended  sentences  by  complaisant  political 
magistrates.  So  far  not  a  rioter  had  been  fined  or  committed 
to  jail,  the  extent  of  their  inconvenience  being  measured  by 
a  night  in  the  station-house.  This  lax  administration  of 
justice  was  attracting  attention  and  threatened  to  develop 
into  a  scandal. 

It  was  Saturday  night.  Allan  Borlan  left  the  Yards  later 
than  usual  to  hasten  home  for  dinner,  to  attend  afterward 
an  important  conference  at  their  city  offices.  It  was  nearly 

[231] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

midnight  when  he  and  his  brother  started  for  home;  they 
took  an  Indiana  Avenue  car,  which  carried  each  within  a 
block  of  his  home;  Allan  Borlan  got  out  at  Twenty-first 
Street  to  go  over  to  Prairie  Avenue,  where  he  lived  with  his 
mother,  wrhile  George  rode  some  blocks  farther  south. 

The  two  had  discussed  long  and  earnestly  the  business 
of  the  evening,  and  when  Allan  left  the  car  his  mind  was  so 
preoccupied  with  the  various  considerations  urged  by  his 
brother  that  he  walked  east  on  Twenty-first  Street  with  less 
than  his  usual  caution.  He  never  thought  to  keep  well  to 
the  outer  edge  of  the  walk,  as  had  been  his  custom  of  late, 
but  walked  slowly  along,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his 
eyes  on  the  walk,  thinking.  The  street  was  dimly  lighted; 
he  had  just  passed  the  corner  of  the  alley  extending  south 
between  two  stables,  when  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him. 
Turning  quickly,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  face  of  a  man 
who  darted  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  building,  and  before  he 
could  defend  himself,  struck  him  a  blow  on  the  head  with 
some  heavy  weapon.  With  a  groan  that  was  little  more 
than  a  deep  sigh,  the  young  man  sank  to  the  ground  in  a  heap. 
Stopping  but  a  second  to  look  at  his  victim,  the  assailant  fled 
south  through  the  alley. 

About  three  in  the  morning  the  policeman  who  covered 
that  beat  found  Allan  Borlan,  called  the  patrol,  and  had  him 
taken  to  St.  Luke's  Hospital.  He  was  not  dead,  but  for  three 
days,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  arouse  him,  he  remained  in  a 
comatose  condition.  The  surgeons  were  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  this  prolonged  lethargy.  The  skull  was  not  fractured, 
though  he  had  evidently  been  dealt  a  heavy  blowr  with  a 
sand-bag.  Quite  likely  a  clot  of  blood  had  formed,  but  his 
stupor  was  so  complete  it  was  impossible  to  form  an  opinion 

[232] 


Allan  walked  slowly  along  the  dimly  lighted  street,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  eyes  on  the  sidewalk,  thinking. 


The  Work  of  Thugs 

as  to  the  location  of  the  clot  and  attempt  its  removal.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  encourage  by  every  means  known  to 
science  some  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

When  Allan's  paralyzed  brain  did  begin  to  recover  its 
dormant  powers,  it  was  observed  he  was  flighty  and  forget 
ful,  manifesting  only  a  vague  interest  in  what  was  going  on 
about  him.  He  expressed  no  surprise  on  finding  himself  in 
the  hospital,  nor  did  he  so  much  as  inquire  how  he  came 
there;  as  his  condition  improved,  they  asked  him  about  the 
circumstances  attending  the  assault,  to  see  if  it  was  not  pos 
sible  to  identify  his  assailant,  but  he  could  recall  nothing 
that  had  happened  that  evening.  He  did  not  remember 
that  he  had  attended  any  meeting  in  the  city,  or  that  he  had 
taken  the  car  with  his  brother.  He  had  a  confused  recol 
lection  of  a  strike, —  "  somewhere,"  as  he  put  it, —  and  knit 
his  brows  and  tried  to  think.  "  But  I  don't  know  just  where, 
it  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago,"  he  said  slowly,  the  image 
of  the  reality  flitting  so  elusively  before  his  disordered  memory 
that  it  seemed  remote  and  unsubstantial. 

When  his  brothers  came  to  see  him  he  made  no  attempt 
to  talk  about  business.  His  interest  in  the  affairs  of  Borlan 
Bros,  had  so  completely  evaporated  that  for  him  the  firm 
no  longer  existed. 

To  his  mother  he  turned  for  rest  and  consolation,  like  a 
little  child;  he  kissed  her  again  and  again,  as  he  had  when 
a  boy  playing  by  her  side,  and  he  held  her  hand  by  the 
hour,  as  she  sat  by  the  bed  struggling  bravely  but  often 
ineffectually  to  keep  back  the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes. 
Specialists  were  called,  and  after  exhaustive  examinations 
and  tests,  they  shook  their  heads,  baffled. 

"No  positive  sign  of  physical  injury,  either  external  or 
[233] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

internal,  appears,"  they  said.  "An  operation  at  present 
would  be  probing  in  the  dark.  There  is  nothing  to  do 
but  wait.  He  may  recover  his  intellectual  powers  any  day, 
then  again  —  They  hesitated  to  pronounce  the  dread 
alternative  of  a  life  of  comparative  imbecility,  but  that  was 
what  they  meant,  and  every  one  knew  it. 

When  able  to  move  about,  he  was  the  shadow  of  his 
former  self,  the  wreck  of  a  man  physically  and  mentally. 
He  walked  slowly,  hesitatingly,  as  if  uncertain  of  himself, 
bending  forward  to  make  sure  of  his  steps,  and  leaning 
heavily  upon  a  cane.  He  loved  the  sunshine,  and  sat  for 
hours  in  the  small  yard  back  of  their  house,  merely  vege 
tating,  barely  taking  note  of  what  went  on  about  him,  but 
responding  with  a  sweet  smile  and  some  vague  remark  when 
ever  any  one  addressed  him. 


[234] 


CHAPTER  XV 

END  OF  THE  STRIKE 

THERE  was  great  consternation  at  the  Yards  when  it 
was  reported  Allan  Borlan  had  been  assaulted  and 
could  not  live.  Throughout  the  city  the  news  spread 
and  aroused  such  a  feeling  of  resentment  and  indignation, 
such  a  storm  of  protest  and  denunciation  against  the  city 
authorities,  the  police,  and  the  unions,  that  the  leaders  were 
cowed  and  sought  peace.  Most  of  the  strikers  realized  that 
matters  had  gone  too  far,  and  even  the  yellow  journals, 
which  find  capital  in  fomenting  discontent  and  disorder,  were 
obliged  to  come  out  for  the  moment  on  the  side  of  law  and 
order,  and  condemn  brutalities,  not  as  criminal,  but  "as 
injurious  to  the  great  cause  of  union  labor."  At  the  same 
time,  however,  urging  apologetically  that  "there  is  no  evi 
dence  the  assault  upon  Mr.  Borlan  had  any  connection  with 
the  strike.  It  might  have  been  one  of  the  many  hold-ups  for 
which  Chicago  is  gaining  such  an  unenviable  notoriety,  and 
for  which  the  present  city  administration  is  directly  respon 
sible,"  at  once  seeking  to  relieve  unionism  and  turn  the 
crime  to  political  account. 

Utterances  like  these  deceived  no  one;  everybody  knew 
Allan  Borlan  was  the  victim  of  the  cowardly  vengeance  of 
the  men  he  had  denounced.  He  had  no  other  enemies,  and 
the  fact  that  his  money  and  watch  were  found  upon  him 
proved  conclusively  he  was  not  the  victim  of  an  ordinary 
city  highwayman. 

[235] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

In  the  vicinity  of  the  Yards  there  was  only  one  opinion 
concerning  the  identity  of  the  man  responsible  for  the  assault: 
if  Ballard  did  not  do  it  himself, —  and  those  who  knew  him 
well  felt  sure  he  did, —  he  had  ordered  it  done.  This  was 
the  conviction  of  most  of  the  men,  and  they  did  not  hesitate 
to  express  this  conviction  covertly  among  themselves;  but 
keen  detectives  employed  by  Borlan  Bros,  could  not  dis 
cover  sufficient  evidence  to  connect  him  with  the  crime. 
All  they  could  learn  was  that  he  had  attended  a  committee 
meeting  down  town  on  the  night  in  question,  leaving  about 
eleven  o'clock  to  go  to  his  rooms  in  Wabash  Avenue.  In  the 
apartment  building  where  he  lived  no  one  knew  what  hour 
he  had  entered,  but  a  woman  on  the  floor  below  thought  she 
heard  him  walking  about  long  after  midnight;  that  was  all, 
not  enough  to  justify  his  arrest.  Meanwhile  Ballard  was 
not  so  much  in  evidence  about  the  Yards.  His  face  had  lost 
none  of  the  cold,  cynical,  at  times  ugly  expression  which 
made  him  feared  by  his  most  intimate  associates,  but  he 
thought  it  wise  to  stick  close  to  headquarters  until  the  storm 
of  indignation  blew  over. 

On  the  Monday  afternoon  following  the  assault,  Norberg 
and  he  met  in  the  room  above  the  saloon  on  Clark  Street,  in 
response  to  Norberg's  urgent  telephone  message. 

The  secret  agent  of  Ganton  &  Co.  was  covered  with  per 
spiration,  nervous,  and  excited  as  he  hurriedly  entered  the 
dingy  room  where  Ballard  was  already  seated  coolly  smoking 
a  fine  cigar. 

Carefully  locking  the  door  behind  him,  Norberg  exclaimed 
excitedly : 

"  I  say,  Ballard,  this  thing  has  gone  too  far." 

"  What  has  gone  too  far  ? "  was  the  nonchalant  response. 
[236] 


End  of  the  Strike 

"  This  —  this  —  you  know  what  I  mean.  The  jig  's 
up;  the  old  man  is  terribly  worked  up  over  this  slugging 
of  young  Borlan,  and  he  threatens  to  help  land  some  one 
in  Joliet." 

"You  can  tell  the  old  man  to  go  to  hell!"  This  time 
Ballard's  eyes  flashed,  and  he  struck  his  fist  heavily  on  the 
beer-stained  wooden  table.  "  If  he  goes  to  making  trouble, 
things  may  come  out  he  would  not  like." 

Norberg  knew  what  the  threat  meant,  and  furthermore 
he  knew,  if  pushed  to  the  wall,  Ballard  was  desperate 
enough  to  make  his  threats  good  regardless  of  consequences, 
so  he  said  more  soothingly: 

"All  the  same,  Ballard,  you  must  call  the  strike  off." 

"  That 's  easier  said  than  done.  Why  should  we  send 
the  men  back  to  work?" 

"  The  public  is  getting  worked  up  —  the  slugging  of 
Borlan—" 

"Then  lower  the  price  of  meat,"  interrupted  Ballard  with 
a  sneer,  "  and  the  public  will  forget  all  about  that  little  affair." 

Paying  no  attention  to  the  other's  tone,  Norberg  continued 
hurriedly:  "We  can  arrange  for  a  conference  to-morrow 
morning,  and  there  can  be  a  show  of  give  and  take  on  both 
sides,  with  talk  of  leaving  all  differences  to  arbitration.  That 
will  give  you  a  chance  to  order  the  men  back." 

"  That 's  all  very  fine,  Norberg,  but  it  won't  work  without 
a  little  lubrication.  Let  me  see,"  Ballard  thought  a  moment, 
tapping  his  fingers  on  the  table  as  if  counting,  "  it  will  take 
just  about  ten  thousand  dollars  to  call  this  strike  off." 

"  Ten  thousand  nothing ! "  shouted  Norberg  hotly.  "  You 
fellows  have  been  well  paid,  and  you  are  lucky  to  get  out  with 
any  sort  of  recognition,  for  I  can  tell  you,  Ballard,  some  of 

[237] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

the  packers  are  in  favor  of  seizing  this  opportunity  to  shut 
the  unions  out  of  the  Yards  entirely." 

"Let  them  try  it,"  interrupted  Ballard,  and  his  face 
assumed  the  look  that  all  his  associates  feared. 

"Anyway,  there  's  no  use  asking  for  more  money." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,  or  let  them  take  the  conse 
quences,"  Ballard  repeated  laconically.  Norberg  knew  it 
was  useless  to  argue  with  the  man.  The  matter  would  have 
to  be  fought  out,  or  the  money  paid. 

A  day  or  two  later  the  papers  contained  announcements 
that  a  conference  had  been  arranged,  and  that  there  was  a 
prospect  of  adjusting  differences.  The  mayor,  the  commit 
tee  of  aldermen,  the  Ruskin  Settlement,  the  independent 
clergy,  and  the  indefatigable  secretary  of  the  National  Civic 
Association  came  out  in  carefully  prepared  interviews,  claim 
ing  the  credit  of  having  brought  the  contending  parties 
together. 

At  the  meeting  there  was  talk  of  conciliation  and  arbitra 
tion  and  concessions.  The  result  was  that  the  men,  or  rather 
all  for  whom  there  was  work,  were  ordered  back  with  no 
advance  in  wages  or  change  in  conditions  of  employment, 
but  with  the  vague  promise  something  would  or  might  be 
done  for  them  in  the  near  or  distant  future.  The  net  result 
to  the  men  was  a  loss  of  so  many  weeks'  wages,  and  the  loss 
of  positions  for  a  large  number,  for  it  was  tacitly  understood 
that  the  companies  would  take  this  opportunity  to  weed  out 
a  lot  of  old  and  worn-out  employees.  The  unions  made 
loud  complaints  that  the  men  were  not  all  taken  back,  but 
these  complaints  were  not  intended  to  carry  weight  save 
here  and  there  where  a  local  leader  or  agitator  had  been  inad 
vertently  dropped;  for  the  old  men  with  families  who  were 

[238] 


End  of  the  Strike 

not  taken  back,  the  unions  had  no  solicitude  beyond  a  general 
protest  which  amounted  to  nothing. 

The  public  was  disappointed  because  the  price  of  meat 
did  not  drop  immediately  upon  the  ending  of  the  strike,  but 
the  packers  explained  at  length  that  the  plants  were  in  a 
condition  of  great  disorder,  the  business  disorganized,  stocks 
on  hand  greatly  reduced,  so  it  was  impossible  to  reduce 
prices;  also,  somewhat  inconsistently,  that  prices  were  kept 
up  by  the  retail  dealers  rather  than  the  wholesale.  To  the 
surprise  of  the  public,  all  these  explanations,  consistent  and 
otherwise,  were  affirmed  as  reasonable  by  the  strikers,  by  the 
very  men  who  but  a  few  days  before  had  been  accusing  the 
packers  of  all  sorts  of  unlawful  practices  to  keep  prices  up. 
The  Yards  were  once  more  united  against  city,  State,  and 
nation,  against  everybody  and  everything  outside  the  gates. 

No  one  could  estimate  the  profits  Ganton  &  Co.  made, 
directly  and  indirectly,  out  of  the  strike.  It  was  easy  to 
figure  the  saving  in  wages  and  running  expenses,  and  the 
advance  in  the  prices  of  nearly  all  food  products,  but  John 
Ganton  had  taken  every  advantage  of  the  market.  Before 
the  strike  was  rumored  he  had  gone  short  of  ribs,  pork,  corn, 
and  wheat  on  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade,  and  of  a  large  line 
of  stocks  on  the  New  York  Exchange ;  during  the  progress  of 
the  strike  he  had  used  all  the  resources  at  his  command  to 
depress  the  market,  and  before  there  was  so  much  as  a  sug 
gestion  of  a  settlement  he  covered  his  short  lines  at  a  huge 
profit. 

"  I  '11  bet  the  old  rascal  has  made  over  a  million  out  of  the 
strike,"  Range  Salter  remarked  enviously. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  that  figure  was  considerably  below 
the  truth. 

[239] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

Notwithstanding  the  successful  outcome  of  all  his  plans, 
John  Ganton  was  restless  and  irritable;  he  worried  over 
the  condition  of  Allan  Borlan,  and  every  one  in  the  office 
knew  it. 

"  How  is  he  getting  on  ? "  was  the  question  he  asked 
Browning  every  morning. 

"  Just  the  same,"  was  the  invariable  response;  whereupon 
the  old  man  shuffled  about  uneasily,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  the  telegrams  and  letters  on  his  desk  for  some  time.  Dur 
ing  the  day  it  was  not  uncommon  for  Browning  to  find  him 
gazing  out  of  the  window  in  an  absent-minded  fashion,  so 
unlike  his  accustomed  manner  that  at  length  Browning 
ventured  the  inquiry: 

"  Are  n't  you  feeling  well,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  " 

With  a  start  the  old  man  wheeled  around  in  his  chair. 

"I  don't  know,  Browning.  I  ain't  quite  up  to  the  mark; 
my  stomick  's  out  of  sorts  lately,  but  I  guess  I'll  be  all  right 
in  a  day  or  two." 

"  Why  don't  you  see  a  doctor  ?  " 

"Doctors  are  all  fools;  a  good  dose  of  castor  oil  is  all  I 
need.  Why  don't  the  doctors  help  young  Borlan  ?  "  he  sud 
denly  asked.  "  If  they  know  so  much,  why  don't  they  help 
him?" 

"His  is  a  very  strange  case;  some  injury  to  the  brain." 

"  Well,  why  don't  they  cure  him  ?  —  the  idiots ! "  The  tone 
was  so  sharp,  and  at  the  same  time  plaintive,  that  Browning 
looked  up  surprised.  "  Why  don't  they  cure  him  ? "  The 
question  was  monotonously  repeated,  then  suddenly,  "  Brown 
ing,  I  would  give  ten  thousand  dollars  to  see  that  young  fellow 
all  right  again." 

"They  are  doing  everything  they  can,  Mr.  Ganton." 
[240] 


End  of  the  Strike 

"  I  suppose  so,  I  suppose  so ;  but  the  doctors  are  all  fools. 
They  will  kill  him  yet,  then  that  will  be  their  fault,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  not  so  bad  as  that.  They  say  he  may  come  to  him 
self  any  day.  He  is  sound  in  every  way  but  his  brain." 

"  Well,  is  n't  that  enough  ?  "  the  old  man  snarled.  "  Keep 
posted,  Browning,  and  let  me  know  soon  's  he  's  better." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  John  Ganton  had  changed 
since  the  strike.  He  was  not  himself.  Others  remarked  it 
besides  Browning.  He  was  irritable, —  which  was  nothing 
new,  for  the  old  man  had  a  violent  temper, —  but  his  irrita 
bility  assumed  a  new  phase;  he  had  become  nervously  and 
fretfully  irritable,  as  if  laboring  under  a  heavy  weight  of 
anxiety,  or  suffering  from  some  unrecognized  ailment.  At 
home  his  wife  noticed  he  did  not  eat  so  heartily  as  was  his 
habit,  and  his  appetite  was  freaky.  At  one  meal  he  was 
ravenously  hungry,  at  the  next  he  might  turn  suddenly  from 
the  table,  exclaiming,  "I  can't  eat  anything,  Maria." 

In  response  to  her  anxious  inquiries  he  only  said,  "  I 
guess  my  stomick  's  out  of  kilter." 

He  took  huge  doses  of  castor  oil,  which  would  cramp  him 
double  with  pain,  but  afterward  he  always  felt  relieved  and 
could  eat  with  more  relish.  Nothing  would  induce  him  to 
see  a  doctor.  "They  are  all  fools,"  was  his  stereotyped 
reply  to  the  suggestion.  "They  would  just  run  up  big  bills 
and  kill  me  in  the  end.  When  I  go  to  a  doctor  I  will  make 
a  bargain  with  the  undertaker  first." 

The  trouble  was  not  altogether  physical.  John  Ganton's 
mind  was  not  at  ease.  Down  deep  within  his  heart  he  felt 
he  was  in  a  way  to  blame  for  Allan  Borlan's  condition.  Had 
he  not  refused  to  help  the  young  man,  to  stand  by  him, 
to  fight  the  strike  openly  ?  Did  he  not  even  go  so  far  as 

[241] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

to  encourage  the  strike  of  Borlan  Bros.'  men  in  advance  ? 
That  was  what  troubled  him,  and  made  him  so  anxious 
about  the  young  man's  condition. 

Another  matter  was  the  report  that  Will  was  to  marry  May 
Keating.  This  news  came  like  a  bolt  out  of  a  clear  sky. 
Just  after  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  bank  Range 
Salter  turned  to  him  and  said,  "Well,  Ganton,  I  hear  Will  is 
engaged  to  the  Keating  girl ;  I  thought  you  were  down  on  the 
old  man." 

John  Ganton  was  staggered,  and  could  only  look  at  Salter 
in  dumb  amazement;  it  was  the  first  intimation  he  had 
received  that  Will  had  not  obeyed  his  injunction  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Keating  girls.  Without  a  word  he 
hurriedly  left  the  bank  and  returned  to  his  office;  calling 
for  Browning  he  said  to  him : 

"  Look  here,  Browning,  your  wife  keeps  track  of  what  's 
going  on  in  the  fool  world  better  than  we  do.  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  plain,  have  you  heard  anything  about  Will  and  this 
Keating  girl  being  engaged  ? " 

The  question  took  Browning  by  surprise.  He  had 
heard  a  good  deal,  and  he  more  than  suspected  that  what  he 
heard  was  true,  but  he  had  not  intended  saying  anything 
about  the  matter  to  John  Ganton.  It  could  only  make 
trouble ;  he  knew  how  bitterly  the  old  man  disliked  Keating, 
and  he  dreaded  the  consequences  of  Will's  infatuation. 

Browning's  confusion  answered  the  inquiry  more  plainly 
than  words. 

"I  want  the  truth,  Browning,"  the  old  man  repeated 
sharply. 

"  I  really  don't  know  anything  in  particular,  Mr.  Ganton," 
Browning  stammered. 

[242] 


End  of  the  Strike 

"  But  you  have  heard  something.  I  want  to  know  what 
you  have  heard." 

"  I  have  heard  that  Will  is  very  attentive  — 

"  Have  you  heard  they  are  engaged  to  be  married  ?  — 
that 's  what  I  want  to  know!  "  the  old  man  shouted,  his  face 
red  with  anger. 

"People  say  they  are  engaged,  but,"  Browning  hastened 
to  add  deprecatingly,  "you  can't  rely  upon  what  people  say." 

"  It  is  enough  that  he  has  given  them  reason  to  say  so, — 
that  a  son  of  mine  should  be  even  reported  engaged  to  a 
daughter  of  Jem  Keating.  If  he  marries  her  I  '11  not  leave 
him  a  cent,  Browning, —  not  a  red  cent!  " 

"They  probably  won't  marry,"  Browning  urged  sooth 
ingly.  "It  does  not  follow  nowadays  because  young  people 
are  engaged  they  are  sure  to  marry, —  it 's  different  from 
what  it  was  when  we  were  young."  Browning  tried  to 
speak  lightly,  but  the  attempt  was  a  failure.  The  old  man 
was  too  absorbed  in  his  passion  to  notice  what  was  said,  and 
only  repeated,  half  to  himself,  "  I  '11  cut  him  off  without  a 
penny."  He  clenched  the  big  hairy  fist  that  rested  on  the 
desk,  and  Browning  knew  it  would  be  worse  than  useless  to 
try  to  shake  his  determination. 

During  the  strike  Will  had  worked  like  a  tiger,  going  to 
the  Yards  early  and  remaining  late,  often  sleeping  on  the 
old  leather-covered  couch  in  his  office.  The  unusual  excite 
ment  appealed  to  him  and  aroused  his  sluggish  energies. 
To  the  surprise  of  many  of  the  foremen,  he  made  himself 
useful  in  more  than  one  department;  he  stoked  in  the  hot 
boiler-rooms  or  drove  teams  as  the  mood  seized  him,  his 
strength  and  endurance  commanding  the  respect  of  the 
brawniest  men  alongside.  The  manual  labor  and  outdoor 

[243] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

life,  the  excitement  and  danger,  he  liked  better  than  the  office 
work.  As  he  stood  one  afternoon  all  grimy  and  sweaty  at 
the  door  of  the  boiler-room,  he  said  to  Browning,  who  had 
just  driven  up: 

"  By  Jove,  I  believe  I  would  make  a  first-class  hand  about 
the  plant,  but  I  'm  no  good  in  the  office.  It  makes  me  sleepy 
to  sit  at  a  desk  all  day." 

Browning  looked  at  the  stocky,  powerful  figure  before  him 
and  in  his  own  mind  agreed  it  was  a  mistake  to  try  to  make 
an  office  man  out  of  Will  Ganton;  he  was  not  cut  out  for 
the  counting-room. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  negro  teamsters  who  had 
been  employed  to  take  the  place  of  the  strikers  drove  up,  and 
throwing  down  his  reins  said: 

"  Dere  's  no  use,  boss,  I  'se  ready  to  quit." 

" What 's  the  matter  now?"  Will  asked  sharply. 

"  De  crowd  's  too  big  for  me.  Dey  '11  stone  me  to  def 
soon  's  I  git  outside  de  gates;  I  'se  ready  to  quit." 

"  Get  back  on  that  seat,  you  black  coward.  I  '11  see  you 
through."  Will  jumped  up  on  the  seat  beside  the  man, 
who  was  more  afraid  to  disobey  than  to  face  the  crowd  of 
strikers  and  strike  sympathizers  outside. 

"You  better  be  careful,  Will,"  Browning  shouted  warn- 
ingly  as  they  drove  off,  but  the  young  man  apparently  did 
not  hear.  At  the  big  gate  a  policeman  stopped  them  and 
said: 

"  There  's  an  ugly  crowd  outside.  Better  let  me  call  the 
wagon  if  you  intend  to  drive  through." 

"  Never  you  mind,  officer,  I  '11  put  the  wagon  through 
without  an  escort.  Open  the  gates." 

The  officer  drew  back,  shaking  his  head  doubtfully.  He 
[244] 


End  of  the  Strike 

knew  the  temper  of  the  mob  outside,  for  he  had  been  on  duty 
since  early  in  the  morning,  and  he  knew  mighty  little  would 
be  required  to  precipitate  a  riot.  The  bringing  in  of  negroes 
to  take  the  places  of  the  strikers  had  infuriated  the  men. 
Not  a  wagon  had  left  the  yard  with  a  negro  driver  without  a 
police  escort,  and  in  several  instances  drivers  and  officers  had 
been  indiscriminately  stoned.  Toward  noon  there  had  been 
a  lull;  no  wagons  went  out,  and  the  extra  details  of  police 
had  returned  to  the  stations. 

As  the  great  gates  swung  open  and  the  wagon  passed 
through,  the  horses  on  a  gallop,  the  crowd  outside  gave  way. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  astonishment  when  the  mob  saw 
only  a  single  wagon  with  two  men  on  the  seat,  and  no  patrol 
wagon  following.  The  audacity  of  the  attempt  so  dazed 
the  strikers  that  for  some  distance  no  effort  was  made  to 
block  the  road,  but  about  midway  of  the  second  block  a 
huge  truck  stood  across  the  narrow  street,  left  there  as  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  any  team  that  might  come  from  the 
Yards.  On  the  sidewalk  groups  of  thugs  and  men  reckless 
from  drink  were  gathered  to  take  advantage  of  the  blockade. 

When  Will  Ganton,  the  cowering  negro  at  his  side,  came 
to  a  sudden  stand  by  the  truck,  a  hoarse  growl  went  up 
from  the  crowd,  and  there  were  ugly  threats  and  calls  to  the 
young  man  to  get  down  and  leave  the  "  nigger  "  to  his  fate. 
A  stone  was  thrown,  followed  by  several,  then  a  fusillade,  all 
aimed  at  the  negro  crouched  behind  the  seat  in  mortal  terror. 
A  sharp  piece  of  rock  hit  Will  on  the  forehead,  bringing 
the  blood  and  rousing  in  him  the  fury  of  a  wild  animal. 
Seizing  one  of  the  iron-shod  stakes  of  the  wagon,  he  leaped 
from  the  seat  and  dashed  into  the  thickest  of  the  mob.  In 
his  blind  rage  his  strength  was  doubled.  At  the  first  sweep 

[245] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

of  the  ugly  weapon  he  crushed  the  arm  of  the  nearest  man ; 
pressing  forward,  he  swung  the  merciless  stake  to  the  right 
and  left  indiscriminately  upon  the  rioters.  They  fell  back 
before  his  terrific  onslaught,  turned,  and  ran,  leaving  four 
of  their  number  bruised  and  senseless  on  the  pavement. 

By  the  time  the  officer  at  the  gate  came  running  up,  the 
trouble  was  over,  the  rioters  dispersed.  Will  Ganton's  fury 
evaporated  somewhat  as  he  looked  at  the  bruised  and  bleed 
ing  fellows  he  had  struck  down.  Leaving  the  police  to 
ascertain  the  extent  of  their  injuries  and  look  after  them,  he 
quickly  swung  the  pole  of  the  truck  that  blocked  the  street 
to  one  side  so  as  to  open  up  a  passageway,  resumed  his  seat, 
and  ordered  the  negro  to  drive  on. 

When  May  Keating  read  in  the  morning  papers  highly 
sensational,  but  not  greatly  exaggerated,  accounts  of  the 
"daring  of  Will  Ganton  in  dashing  into  a  crowd  of  rioters 
and  dispersing  them  single-handed,  disabling  four  and 
nearly  killing  one,"  her  cheeks  flushed  with  excitement,  and 
she  said  to  her  sister: 

"  I  could  almost  love  that  sort  of  a  man." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jack,  "  I  can't  see 
why  he  should  risk  his  life  among  those  strikers, —  and  for  a 
negro,  at  that! "  Her  tone  exhibited  her  profound  disgust. 

"If  for  a  negro,  so  much  the  better;  to  risk  one's  life  in 
any  cause  is  more  than  most  men  are  capable  of  doing." 

"  I  suppose  now  he  has  broken  a  few  heads  you  will  marry 
him,"  responded  Mrs.  Jack,  hopefully. 

"  I  don't  know, —  perhaps ;  since  this  strike  he  has  been 
a  different  fellow." 

"  I  should  say  he  had, —  so  dirty  and  oily  and  greasy  it 
takes  one's  appetite  away  to  see  him  at  the  table." 

[246] 


End  of  the  Strike 

May  Keating  laughed.  The  few  times  Will  Ganton  had 
dined  with  them  at  the  Club  since  the  beginning  of  the  strike 
he  certainly  had  been  far  from  agreeably  clean;  in  spite  of 
the  vigorous  use  of  hot  water  and  the  strongest  of  soft  soaps, 
his  hands  and  finger  nails  showed  the  grimy  effects  of  his 
new  occupations.  For  the  time  being  he  was  a  laboring  man, 
looked  like  one,  acted  like  one,  ate  like  one. 

"Old  John  Ganton  over  again,"  Larry  Delaney  mur 
mured  as  he  watched  him  one  evening  across  the  table; 
"  he  does  look  like  his  father,  does  n't  he  ?  " 

"  I  never  noticed  it  so  much  before,"  responded  Mrs.  Jack. 

"He  has  the  body,  but  not  the  head,"  was  Delaney's 
shrewd  observation. 

When  McCarthy  telephoned  down  how  Will  had  dis 
persed  the  strikers  without  police  assistance,  John  Ganton 
was  immensely  pleased. 

"The  boy  has  the  right  stuff  in  him,  after  all,"  he  said  to 
Browning.  "How  many  did  McCarthy  say  were  hurt?" 

"The  patrol  wagon  took  four  to  the  County  Hospital. 
One  had  his  shoulder  crushed,  and  another  his  arm  broken. 
It  's  a  wonder  they  were  not  killed." 

"Would  have  served  them  right  if  they  had  been,  the 
cowardly  rascals,"  The  old  man's  eyes  blazed,  and  he 
added,  in  another  tone:  "But  the  boy  must  not  take  such 
chances, —  no  need  of  it.  Let  the  niggers  look  out  for 
themselves.  Their  heads  are  harder  to  crack." 

Under  these  conditions  John  Ganton  could  not  bring 
himself  to  speak  to  Will  about  his  rumored  engagement  to 
May  Keating.  His  mind  was  so  taken  up  with  the  events  of 
the  hour,  especially  by  the  assault  upon  young  Borlan  and 
the  settlement  of  the  strike,  that  the  report  which  at  the  time 

[247] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

had  aroused  his  ire  was  almost  forgotten;  when  he  did 
think  of  it  he  dismissed  the  matter  as  beyond  the  range  of 
possibilities,  and  he  persuaded  himself  it  was  unnecessary 
to  speak  about  it  again. 

This  was  quite  contrary  to  the  habit  of  John  Ganton. 
He  seldom  refrained  from  speaking  without  restraint  con 
cerning  anything  that  crossed  his  wishes,  but  his  aversion  to 
Jem  Keating  was  so  deep-seated  he  did  not  like  to  talk  of 
the  man.  The  thought  that  any  son  of  his  could  marry 
a  daughter  of  the  "old  reprobate,"  as  he  called  Keating, 
seemed  ridiculous.  Of  course  Will  could  not  help  meeting 
a  lot  of  people  at  the  clubs,  the  Keating  girls  as  well  as 
others,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  but  further  than  seeing 
them  in  that  way  there  could  be  nothing  serious. 

Beyond  lunching  hurriedly  once  or  twice  a  week  at  the 
Club,  and  dining  occasionally  with  business  associates,  the 
old  man  knew  nothing  of  social  life ;  ordinarily  he  slipped  in 
by  the  back  entrance  of  the  Grand  Pacific  and  bolted  a 
luncheon  of  steak,  baked  potatoes,  and  coffee, —  the  waiter 
knew  his  order.  Not  infrequently  he  had  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  sandwich  sent  to  his  office  from  the  lunch-counter  in 
the  building.  On  days  of  great  excitement  in  the  market 
he  went  without  anything  to  eat  until  dinner  time,  but  this 
he  did  not  believe  in  for  himself  or  others.  He  had  often 
gone  so  far  as  to  threaten  to  discharge  men  whose  dinner- 
pails  came  scantily  supplied.  "  I  've  no  use  for  a  starved 
horse  or  a  hungry  man." 

He  cared  nothing  for  politics,  he  read  only  the  papers, 
for  years  he  had  not  gone  to  the  theatre,  he  could  not 
remember  when  he  had  been  inside  a  church.  Now  and 
then  he  attended  a  bankers'  or  a  merchants'  dinner,  invari- 

[248] 


End  of  the  Strike 

ably  sitting  at  a  table  with  business  associates  so  he  might 
talk  over  the  affairs  of  the  day.  His  name  figured  on  promi 
nent  committees  on  great  public  occasions,  but  he  never 
attended  meetings  or  wasted  a  moment's  time,  whether  the 
guest  were  the  Governor  of  the  State  or  the  President. 

Outside  the  Yards  and  the  companies  in  which  he  was 
interested  the  world  was  a  passing  show  to  John  Ganton, 
and  one  so  vain  and  inconsequential  from  his  point  of  view 
that  it  did  not  divert  him  in  the  slightest  degree. 

Aside  from  the  money  he  had  made,  which  he  accepted 
as  a  matter  of  course,  the  one  encouraging  feature  of  the 
strike  was  the  behavior  of  Will.  The  unexpected  energy 
with  which  the  boy  worked,  the  brute  force  he  displayed,  his 
dare-devil  courage,  all  pleased  the  old  man ;  again  and  again 
he  said  to  Browning :  "  He  's  all  right.  The  boy  's  got  the 
right  stuff  in  him,"  and  he  rubbed  his  big  hairy  hands 
together  in  satisfaction. 

About  a  week  after  the  strike  was  called  off  he  happened 
to  meet  Range  Salter  on  the  street  near  the  Board  of  Trade, 
and  the  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  him  it  was  Salter  who 
had  spoken  about  Will's  engagement. 

"Look  here,  Salter,"  he  said,  stopping  the  other,  "you 
said  something  about  Will's  going  to  marry  that  Keating 
girl.  I  want  to  tell  you  there  's  nothing  in  it;  there  's  nothing 
in  it,"  he  repeated  sharply. 

"  Well,  it 's  the  talk  of  the  town,  that 's  all  I  know  about 
it,"  Salter  answered  impatiently. 

"  You  can  just  say  for  me  there  's  nothing  in  it.  Do  you 
hear  ?  There  's  nothing  in  it,"  and  John  Ganton  moved  off 
toward  the  entrance  of  the  building. 

When  Range  Salter  wrote  Mrs.  Salter  about  this  conver- 
[249] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

sation,  a  smile  of  satisfaction  spread  over  that  little  lady's 
round  face.  "  I  thought  as  much,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  now  there  will  be  some  chance  for  others." 

In  accordance  with  her  promise,  Mrs.  Ganton  called  upon 
Mrs.  Jack  and  her  sister.  It  was  an  eventful  day  for  the 
timid  little  soul  in  black,  the  first  time  in  all  her  life  that  she 
had  done  anything  which  she  knew  was  contrary  to  her  hus 
band's  wishes,  the  first  time  she  had  ever  done  anything  she 
felt  obliged  to  conceal  from  him,  and  as  she  drove  over  to  the 
North  Side  her  conscience  pricked  her.  Twice  she  ordered 
the  man  to  drive  back  and  then  on  again,  until  the  coach 
man  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  disgust  at  what  seemed  to 
him  a  woman's  inability  to  make  up  her  mind  what  she 
wanted  to  do. 

As  they  approached  the  Wilton  palace  she  became  more 
and  more  nervous,  wringing  her  thin  white  hands  in  positive 
distress.  Left  alone  in  the  grand  reception  room,  her  mind 
was  diverted  for  the  time  being  by  the  gorgeousness  about 
her.  She  had  never  seen  anything  like  it ;  her  own  sombre 
parlor,  with  its  set  of  upholstered  furniture,  its  big  chande 
lier,  and  profuse  stucco  ornaments  on  the  ceiling,  had  always 
seemed  grand,  too  grand  really  to  use,  but  it  was  barren 
simplicity  compared  with  the  tiling,  the  marble,  the  decora 
tions,  the  paintings,  the  porcelains,  the  gilt  and  glitter  of 
Mrs.  Jack's  imposing  salon.  She  shrank  into  a  corner  quite 
overcome,  and  during  the  entire  call, —  marked  by  effusive 
cordiality  on  Mrs.  Jack's  part,  and  a  curious  but  sympathetic 
interest  on  May  Keating's, —  she  did  not  fully  recover  from 
the  conviction  of  her  own  utter  insignificance.  She  felt  so 
completely  out  of  place,  it  was  with  positive  relief  she  heard 

[250] 


End  of  the  Strike 

the  massive  door  close  behind  her  as  she  hastened  down  the 
stone  steps. 

Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  engagement,  and  little  about 
Will ;  somehow  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  of  what 
was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all  of  them.  Several  times 
Mrs.  Jack  referred  in  glowing  terms  to  Will's  bravery,  his 
devotion  to  business,  his  ability,  and  the  like,  but  the  mother 
could  do  no  more  than  murmur  an  assent  to  these  appre 
ciations.  She  could  not  discuss  her  boy  with  these  strange 
women ;  by  what  right  did  they  talk  as  if  they  had  an  inter 
est  in  him  ?  The  natural,  the  inevitable  resentment  of  the 
mother  toward  the  intervention  of  the  other  woman  filled 
her  heart. 

She  did  not  like  Mrs.  Jack  so  well  as  her  sister.  That 
she  was  sure  of,  though  the  latter  did  not  make  so  much  of  an 
effort  to  be  agreeable.  There  was  something  about  Mrs. 
Jack  which  did  not  seem  true,  something  forced  and  artifi 
cial,  a  striving  to  produce  an  effect.  "  She  wants  her  sister 
to  marry  Will.  She  has  set  her  heart  upon  it,  because  she 
thinks  Will  will  be  rich, —  just  for  his  money,  that  is  all. 
No;  I  do  not  like  her,  but  May  Keating  —  "  and  for  a  long 
time  on  the  way  home  she  thought  of  May  Keating,  of  her 
father  and  her  mother,  of  her  as  she  was  when  a  child,  of  the 
family  before  Jem  Keating  had  failed  and  fallen  so  low. 

"  Yes,  she  is  more  like  her  mother,"  she  thought.  "  She 
has  more  heart,  but  the  other  is  like  the  father.  I  would  not 
trust  her.  I  wish  Will  was  in  love  with  some  one  else.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  "  Again  she  wrung  her  thin  hands  in  painful 
indecision  over  what  she  should  tell  her  husband,  for  she 
felt  she  must  sooner  or  later  tell  him  what  had  occurred, — 
how  could  she  keep  it  ?  Now  the  call  was  over,  now  she  had 

[251] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

done  it,  it  seemed  more  difficult  than  ever  to  keep  from  tell 
ing  all  about  it  that  very  day;  an  inward  voice  kept  repeat 
ing,  "You  must  tell,  you  must  tell,  you  cannot  help  telling," 
until  she  almost  made  up  her  mind  it  was  the  best  thing  to 
do.  But  when  John  Ganton  came  home  that  evening  he 
was  so  tired  and  cross  she  did  not  dare  speak  of  it. 

There  was  a  drawn  look  in  his  face  she  did  not  like;  a 
look  of  pain  and  suffering  rather  than  of  care  and  worry. 
He  ate  scarcely  any  dinner. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  John  ?     Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"No;  I  'm  not  sick,  but  my  stomick  's  all  upset, —  some 
thing  I  've  eaten.  I  guess  a  dose  of  oil  will  straighten  me 
out." 

"  Remember  how  it  cramped  you  the  last  time  you  took 
it.  Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  see  a  doctor  ?  "  she  sug 
gested  timidly. 

"Not  if  I  wTant  to  keep  my  feet,"  he  answered  irritably. 
"  I  can  take  care  of  myself  yet." 

"  You  look  bilious.  I  've  never  seen  you  looking  so 
yellow,  John." 

"So  Browning  said.     My  liver  needs  stirring  up." 

"  You  will  be  careful  what  you  take,  won't  you  ?  You 
take  such  strong  doses  I  am  afraid  you  will  hurt  yourself." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  pushing  his  plate  to  one  side,  sat 
silent,  his  head  dropped  forward  on  his  breast,  muttering 
half  to  himself,  "It 's  my  stomick  that 's  out  o'  kilter." 

After  dinner  he  took  off  his  shoes,  put  on  his  pair  of  old 
slippers,  and  went  into  the  library  to  read  the  evening  paper; 
this  was  his  habit  when  he  had  no  business  on  hand. 

He  dropped  into  the  big  easy-chair  beside  the  old- 
fashioned  table,  but  instead  of  reading  the  paper  he  let 

[252] 


End  of  the  Strike 

it  fall  in  his  lap,  and  his  appearance  indicated  that  he  was 
absorbed  in  considerations  other  than  the  news  of  the  day. 

That  vague  sense  of  discomfort  in  his  stomach,  accom 
panied  now  and  then  by  a  sharp  pain  he  did  not  like,  he  did 
not  understand.  His  health  had  never  bothered  him,  he 
always  ate  plain  food,  so  why  should  he  be  conscious  he  had 
a  stomach  ?  The  sense  of  discomfort  had  increased  of  late, 
and  the  pains  had  become  sharper  and  more  frequent;  at 
first  they  would  just  come  and  go,  amounting  to  nothing,  but 
of  late  there  had  been  disagreeable  sensations  present  most 
of  the  time.  When  his  mind  was  not  occupied  with  other 
matters  he  was  conscious  of  these  queer  feelings.  Such, 
however,  was  his  iron  will,  he  had  been  able  for  the  most  part 
to  suppress  even  the  feeling  of  bodily  discomfort, —  to  ignore 
it  as  if  it  did  not  exist ;  but  since  the  strike,  since  the  assault 
upon  Allan  Borlan,  the  old  man  had  not  been  quite  the  same 
as  before.  He  was  subject  to  fits  of  abstraction,  and  he  had 
become  moody  and  more  irascible  than  ever.  Range  Salter 
remarked  one  day  to  Browning : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  the  old  man,  he  looks  sick?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Browning  answered  slowly;  "  I  am  afraid 
there  's  something  wrong  with  his  liver,  at  times  he  is  so 
yellow.  But  he  won't  see  a  doctor." 

"He  'd  better  look  out  at  his  time  of  life,"  was  Salter's 
response. 

"I  have  tried  to  warn  him,  but  he  has  always  been  as 
strong  as  an  ox,  and  he  does  not  like  to  have  any  one  tell  him 
he  looks  sick." 

As  John  Ganton  sat  there  under  the  light  of  the  kero 
sene  lamp  —  he  would  not  have  an  electric  light  on  his  table 
—  he  looked  so  old  and  careworn  and  sick  his  wife  was 

[253] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

frightened.  She  had  never  seen  him  quite  like  that  before, 
but  she  did  not  dare  say  anything. 

After  a  silence  that  lasted  so  long  it  was  oppressive,  he 
suddenly  observed: 

"  Maria,  they  say  young  Borlan  is  no  better." 

"I  heard  to-day  the  doctors  from  New  York  hold  out 
very  little  hope.  He  is  as  helpless  almost  as  a  baby.  What 
an  awful  thing  that  strike  was ! " 

"  It  was  n't  the  fault  of  the  strike,"  he  said  sharply. 

"Why,  they  say  —  " 

"  It  don't  matter  what  they  say.  No  one  knows  who 
did  it." 

"Will  says  he  is  sure  it  was  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Ballard,  one  of  the  strike  leaders." 

"  Well,  no  one  knows, —  just  as  likely  a  common  footpad." 

"  But  he  was  n't  robbed,  was  he  ?  " 

John  Ganton  made  no  answer,  and  apparently  did  not 
hear  his  wife's  remark.  His  mind  followed  its  own  train  of 
thought.  At  length,  with  something  like  a  groan,  he  said : 

"  I  would  give  anything  if  that  young  fellow  were  himself 
again." 

Surprised  at  his  tone  and  manner,  his  wife  urged  sooth 
ingly:  "Why,  John,  it  can't  be  helped.  It 's  not  your  fault. 
You  did  all  you  could  to  end  the  strike.  Will  says  Allan 
Borlan  himself  did  more  to  bring  on  the  strike  than  any  one 
else." 

"  What  does  Will  know  about  it  ? "  the  old  man  inter 
rupted  angrily.  "  I  wish  he  would  stop  talking  and  tend  to 
his  own  affairs.  By  the  way,"  he  said,  changing  the  subject 
as  if  a  new  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  "  Range  Salter  said 
the  other  day  Will  is  engaged  to  that  Keating  girl.  If  he 

[254] 


End  of  the  Strike 

goes  fooling  around  those  girls  there  '11  be  trouble, —  that 's 
all  I  've  got  to  say." 

The  old  man  relapsed  into  a  moody  silence,  and  Mrs. 
Ganton's  heart  sank  within  her.  How  could  she  tell  her 
husband  she  had  called  that  day  on  those  very  girls  ?  What 
good  would  it  do  to  tell  him  ?  He  would  only  storm  at  Will, 
and  there  would  be  a  scene;  she  would  wait  until  he  felt 
better  and  was  less  irritable. 

To  divert  him,  she  at  length  asked  timidly : 

"  What  do  you  hear  from  John  ?  " 

Her  husband's  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and  it  was  several 
seconds  before  he  heeded  her  question. 

"  John  ?  Oh,  he  is  doing  better  'n  I  expected ;  Mac- 
Masters  says  he  's  tending  close  to  business." 

This  made  his  mother's  heart  glad. 

"  I  always  knew  —  " 

"He  '11  never  amount  to  much,"  he  interrupted  roughly; 
"he  has  too  many  fool  notions  to  make  a  business  man. 
What  use  would  he  have  been  in  this  strike  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  — ' 

"  Just  no  use  at  all; "  the  tone  of  this  answer  to  his  own 
query  betrayed  the  contempt  old  John  Ganton  felt  for  his 
younger  son. 

The  mother  subsided ;  it  was  quite  useless  to  argue  with 
her  husband,  his  opinions  were  fixed,  his  prejudices  ad 
amantine. 

The  thought  of  one  son  evidently  brought  to  mind  the 
other,  for  he  said  sharply : 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  Will  what  I  say.  If  he  goes  hanging 
about  those  Keating  girls  there  will  be  trouble.  I  won't 
have  it,  and  that 's  all  there  is  about  it." 

[255] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

He  picked  the  paper  from  his  knees.  He  glanced  at  the 
market  reports,  and  began  reading  the  column  headed, 
"Gossip  on  Change."  It  always  amused  him  to  read  the 
rumors  and  gossip  of  the  Street,  paragraphs  in  which  the 
name  of  Ganton  &  Co.  figured  so  often  and  so  conspicuously. 
Half-way  down  the  column  he  came  upon  the  following : 

"  There  is  an  ugly  rumor  afloat  to  the  effect  that  the  recent 
strike  was  brought  on  by  several  of  the  large  packers  who 
had  stocks  on  hand  they  wished  to  dispose  of  at  good  prices ; 
if  so,  it  is  pretty  safe  to  say  Borlan  Bros,  were  not  in  the 
conspiracy." 

It  was  just  a  malicious  little  paragraph,  but  the  shot 
went  home.  John  Ganton  angrily  threw  the  paper  on  the 
floor,  and  dropped  his  head  upon  his  hand  in  an  attitude  of 
dejection. 


[256] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BLOOD  WILL  TELL 

THIS  was  the  first  summer  Mrs.  Jack  had  spent  in  town 
since  her  marriage.  To  go  somewhere  the  last  week 
in  June  and  return  during  October  was  a  habit  with 
her,  not  that  she  found  Chicago  hot  and  disagreeable  in 
summer, —  quite  the  contrary, —  but  it  was  good  form  to 
go  somewhere.  She  had  fully  expected  to  go  to  Norway 
this  summer;  but  the  possibility  of  marrying  her  sister  to 
Will  Ganton  kept  her  at  home.  It  was  too  good  a  chance  to 
let  slip. 

As  for  Jack  Wilton,  he  much  preferred  staying  in  Chicago. 

"  Summer  's  the  pleasantest  season  of  the  year,  Sally ; 
what 's  the  use  of  going  away  ?  "  he  used  to  say  when  they 
were  first  married.  But  he  soon  found  his  wife's  movements 
were  governed  by  considerations  other  than  climatic.  He 
liked  to  play  golf,  to  ride  and  drive, —  in  short,  to  do  most 
of  the  things  Mrs.  Jack  cared  nothing  at  all  about;  he  did 
not  like  to  sit  around  on  club  verandas  and  gossip  with 
women  —  "  club  harpies  "  he  called  them.  He  lacked  the 
faculty  of  making  himself  agreeable,  and  possibly  for  that 
very  reason  was  popular  with  all  the  men  and  looked  upon 
with  friendly  condescension  and  sympathy  by  most  of  the 
women  of  his  acquaintance. 

August,  with  its  dust  and  heat,  its  strikes,  riots,  and  dis 
turbances,  had  gone.  Mrs.  Jack  fumed  and  fretted ;  she  did 
not  care  anything  about  the  strike;  the  Yards  were  so  far 

[257] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

away  that  people  on  the  North  Side  read  each  morning  about 
the  riots  of  the  day  before  with  the  unconcern  they  felt  when 
reading  of  disturbances  in  Russia.  So  long  as  the  down-town 
district  was  not  invaded,  it  did  not  much  matter;  but  what  an 
noyed  Mrs.  Jack  was  that  the  strike  kept  Will  Ganton  so  close 
ly  confined  they  saw  very  little  of  him.  She  felt,  therefore, 
as  if  she  were  wasting  time,  as  if  no  progress  were  being  made. 

"  If  we  had  only  known,  we  might  just  as  well  have  gone 
to  the  seashore  for  August,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently  to 
her  sister. 

"I  am  not  at  all  bored;  I  like  Chicago  best  in  the  sum 
mer,  when  all  the  people  are  away,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

May  Keating  was  content  to  remain  in  the  city  for  the 
very  reasons  Mrs.  Jack  wished  to  get  away.  She  read  the 
news  of  the  Yards  with  curious  interest,  and  for  the  first 
time  Will  Ganton  began  to  interest  her  as  something  more 
than  a  good  fellow.  He  became  a  personality,  a  force  in  his 
way, —  possibly  a  crude,  rough,  brutal  force  in  his  contact 
with  the  men  about  him,  but  none  the  less  a  force;  and 
that  is  a  good  deal  in  a  woman's  estimation. 

She  wondered  if  after  all  she  might  not  love  him,  if  he 
might  not  possess  some  of  the  masterful  qualities  so  essential 
to  command  a  woman's  devotion ;  but  every  time  the  thought 
of  love  crossed  her  mind,  memories  of  another  summer,  of 
another  face,  another  voice,  would  flow  in  upon  her  with 
overwhelming  force.  What  was  the  use  ? 

She  had  received  but  one  letter  from  Gertrude  Townsend, 
dated  from  Paris,  and  it  said  in  part : 

"  Not  a  soul,  cherie,  not  a  soul ;  the  world  is  a  desert,  Paris 
the  most  barren  spot  in  the  universe.  So  I  am  bored  to 

[258] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

death,  so  bored  I  lack  the  ambition  to  move.  There  is  not 
a  man  in  sight.  Think  of  it !  I  dined  last  night  in  the  Bois 
with  Jarvis ! —  can  you  imagine  it  ?  Poor  fellow,  I  really 
felt  sorry  for  him ;  the  waiters  were  so  funny,  they  knew  him 
and  did  not  know  me,  so  they  served  us  as  only  French 
waiters  can  serve  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  be  dining  with 
another  man's  wife, —  their  airs  of  sympathetic  and  discreet 
comprehension  were  delightful.  It  was  only  too  plain  that 
Jarvis  had  dined  there  often,  and  not  alone. 

"  He  was  so  uncomfortable  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
when  a  boy  came  up  with  a  fan, —  a  fiery  red  creation, —  and 
said  in  his  best  English,  '  Pardon,  here  is  ze  fan  madame  haf 
dropped  ze  ozzer  evening,'  I  really  pitied  him,  he  was  in  such 
a  state  of  confusion.  He  stammered  out  something  and  tried 
to  deny  all  connection  with  the  fan,  but  the  boy  persisted, 
sure  it  was  madame  who  had  dropped  the  fan  just  as  she 
drove  away  with  monsieur.  In  my  sweetest  accents  I  said, 
'Never  mind,  dear,  take  the  fan,  it  is  such  a  pretty  red  it 
quite  goes  with  your  complexion  —  for  the  moment.'  You 
should  have  seen  the  poor  fellow's  face;  from  the  fan  I 
should  say  'madame'  was  tall,  probably  slender,  and  a 
pronounced  brunette. 

"  You  ask  me  if  you  should  marry  for  money.  I  did,  why 
should  not  you  ?  If  you  marry  for  love  you  are  sure  to  be 
miserable;  you  may  be  happy  if  you  many  for  money, —  I 
am  quite  contented.  You  have  been  in  love,  and  there  is 
nothing  left  but  money. 

"  By  the  way,  there  was  a  young  man  from  Chicago  on 
the  steamer;  you  may  know  him,  John  Ganton,  son  of  the 
great  packer.  He  quite  distinguished  himself  by  exposing 
the  tricks  of  a  gang  of  professional  gamblers  who  were  fleecing 
Jarvis  out  of  my  pin-money.  For  lack  of  better  material  I 
amused  myself  by  trying  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
young  ogre,  but  his  stolidity  was  proof  against  all  my  blan 
dishments.  He  struck  me  as  a  singular  mixture  of  sagacity 
and  animal  strength,  with  a  highly  polished,  intellectual 

[  259  ] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

veneer  which  might  be  easily  scratched, —  an  instance  of  the 
reincarnation  of  sweaty  forefathers  in  perfumed  sons,  only 
that  he  does  not  quite  answer  that  description.  He  is  inter 
esting,  but  hopelessly  unresponsive.  I  tried  to  make  some 
thing  of  him,  but  he  lacked  pliability  —  a  bit  of  as  stubborn 
material  as  I  have  run  across  in  the  male  line  for  many  a 
year.  There  was  no  one  else  on  board  worth  a  dozen  words, 
—  a  little  fat  Austrian  Ambassador  and  the  gambler.  I  rather 
liked  the  gambler,  and  might  have  done  something  with  him 
if  I  had  not  wasted  all  my  energies  on  your  young  pork- 
packer.  If  he  ever  returns  to  Chicago,  cultivate  him;  he  is 
worth  while,  if  only  as  a  —  very  literally  —  piece  de  resistance 
upon  which  to  whet  the  edge  of  your  appetite. 

"  Marry,  cherie,  marry,  and  be  free  to  do  as  you  please, — 
then  stagnate  with  ennui  because  everything  worth  doing 
has  been  done,  and  done  incomparably  better  ages  ago." 

How  singular  Gertrude  Townsend  should  have  met  the 
brother  of  Will  Ganton,  the  student  and  dreamer;  how  much 
more  singular  that  the  young  man  should  occasion  that  clever 
woman  of  the  world  a  second  thought, —  truly  there  was  some 
thing  aggressive,  something  irrepressible,  in  the  blood  of  old 
John  Ganton! 

Mrs.  Jack  had  exhausted  all  her  ingenuity  in  endeavoring 
to  further  the  marriage  upon  which  she  had  set  her  heart,  but 
since  the  engagement  no  progress  had  been  made  so  far  as 
she  could  see.  Her  intimate  friends  began  to  inquire,  with 
a  solicitude  that  barely  disguised  their  impertinent  curiosity, 
if  any  date  had  been  set. 

" '  Don't  play  a  fish  too  long,'  is  a  good  angler's  motto," 
Carrie  Trelway  called  out  in  her  loud  clear  voice  one  after 
noon  on  the  veranda  of  the  Golf  Club. 

The  three  or  four  women  sitting  about  the  round-topped 
[260] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

table  smiled  at  the  audacity  of  the  remark,  and  Mrs.  Jack's 
face  turned  crimson.  But  what  could  she  say  ?  What  could 
any  one  say  to  Carrie  Trelway,  who  invited  an  angry  retort 
only  that  she  might  cut  deeper  still  ? 

Will  Ganton  was  dining  with  them  as  usual,  just  as  he 
had  dined  with  them  twenty  times  in  the  past  two  months, 
just  as  he  might  dine  with  them  for  an  indefinite  period  to 
come  unless  something  were  done  to  bring  matters  to  an  issue. 

During  the  afternoon  May  and  he  had  taken  a  long  walk, 
and  during  the  dinner  both  were  preoccupied  to  such  an 
extent  that  conversation  was  maintained  with  an  effort. 
Mrs.  Jack  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  but  she  determined 
to  find  out  that  night.  Delaney  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
looked  from  the  one  to  the  other  quizzically;  but  to  his  sur 
prise  he  received  no  answering  glance  from  May  Keating. 
Something  's  up  this  time,  sure,  he  thought  to  himself ;  not  a 
quarrel,  but  something  really  serious. 

After  dinner  he  ventured  to  ask  in  a  friendly  way: 

"What's  the  matter  now,  May?" 

"Nothing  you  can  help,  Larry,"  she  answered  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Serious?" 

"Possibly,"  she  hesitated  a  moment,  to  continue  impul 
sively,  "  What  sort  of  a  wife  would  I  make  a  poor  man  ?  " 

Delaney  laughed.  "I  can't  conceive  such  a  contingency; 
no  need  of  puzzling  my  brain  to  answer  that  conundrum." 

"  Well,  it  is  one  which  must  be  answered,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  What  under  the  sun  do  you  mean,  May  ? "  He  looked 
at  her  in  surprise,  but  the  light  was  too  dim  to  let  him  catch 
the  expression  of  her  features. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say.  It  is  for  me  to  make  up  my 
[261] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

mind  whether  I  could  or  should  marry  a  poor  man.  The 
prospect  is  not  so  terrifying  as  that  of  a  rich  husband,"  she 
added;  "it  has  its  advantages." 

"No  doubt,"  he  answered  lightly.  "However,  if  you  are 
considering  poverty-stricken  candidates,  I  might  offer  myself 
with  some  degree  of  assurance.  But  Will  Ganton  is  not  a 
poor  man." 

"  He  has  practically  nothing, —  a  small  interest  in  the 
company  and  his  salary." 

"  But  he  is  the  son  of  John  Ganton  and  the  future  head  of 
Ganton  &  Co." 

"  If  his  father  sees  fit  to  make  him." 

"But  he  will." 

"  That  depends  —  I  must  have  caught  the  phrase  from 
Will." 

"Upon  what?" 

"Upon  whether  he  marries  me." 

Larry  Delaney  could  only  express  his  surprise  by  a  long 
in-drawn  whistle. 

"Do  not  say  anything  to  Sally,  or  any  one  else,"  she 
hastened  to  add ;  "  it  would  do  no  good.  The  situation  is  as 
it  is,  and  I  must  decide  for  myself." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say,  May,  is,  go  slow,"  he  urged  with 
friendly  solicitude. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  go 
ahead  full  speed."  With  that  she  rose  and  walked  away, 
leaving  Delaney  to  finish  his  cigar  by  himself. 

"We  were  just  talking  about  you,"  Carrie  Trelway 
called  out  boldly  as  May  Keating  joined  the  group  of  young 
women. 

"  I  thought  so,  and  therefore  came  over  in  self-defence." 
[262] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

"  We  were  wondering  when  you  and  Will  Ganton  were  to 
be  married,"  the  young  woman  continued  loudly. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  that  concerns  you,  Carrie,"  May  Keat 
ing  said  quietly;  it  was  useless  to  take  offence. 

"  If  you  expect  me  to  be  at  the  wedding  you  must  fix  the 
day  not  later  than  November;  in  December  Billy  and  I  sail 
for  Europe." 

"  I  should  miss  you  and  Billy  —  so  much."  The  tone  in 
which  the  last  two  words  were  uttered  made  the  little  group 
of  young  women  laugh.  One  of  them  remarked  afterward : 

"  May  is  enough  for  Carrie  Trelway ;  she  has  a  quiet  way 
that  is  positively  delicious." 

To  Mrs.  Jack's  acute  ear  it  seemed  as  if  every  one  at  the 
Club  was  discussing  a  single  question,  When  would  May 
Keating  and  Will  Ganton  be  married  ?  —  and  discussing  it 
in  a  manner  that  implied  they  might  not  be  married  at  all. 
She  determined  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  May  that 
very  night;  the  matter  had  dragged  too  long. 

When  they  arrived  home  Mrs.  Jack  paused  just  long 
enough  to  slip  into  a  light  wrapper  before  going  to  her  sister's 
room.  She  found  May  sitting  by  the  window  in  the  dark. 
She  had  not  even  removed  her  hat. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  in  the  dark  ?  Why  don't  you 
take  off  your  hat?"  Mrs.  Jack  asked  impatiently. 

Without  answering,  May  drew  the  shades,  turned  on  one 
of  the  side  lights,  went  to  the  dressing-table,  and  began 
removing  her  hat;  she  knew  what  was  on  her  sister's  mind, 
and  simply  waited. 

"  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  May."  Mrs.  Jack's  tone 
betrayed  her  irritation.  "It  is  time  something  definite  was 
decided  with  Will.  When  are  you  going  to  marry  him  ?  " 

[263] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

May  Keating  lightly  touched  her  hair  with  her  fingers  to 
remove  the  impression  left  by  the  hat,  turned,  and  sat  down 
facing  her  sister. 

"We  talked  about  it  this  afternoon,  and,"  she  continued 
slowly,  as  if  coming  then  and  there  to  a  decision,  "  I  think  I 
shall  marry  him  very  soon." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Mrs.  Jack  with  a  sigh  of 
relief;  "we  were  beginning  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
town." 

"  Suppose  Will  Ganton  had  n't  a  penny  in  the  world  but 
his  salary,  would  you  want  me  to  marry  him,  Sally  ?  " 

The  tone  in  which  the  question  was  put  startled  Mrs. 
Jack,  but  she  exclaimed,  "How  absurd!  He  will  be  the 
richest  young  man  in  the  city  some  day." 

"  But  suppose  his  father  should  not  leave  him  a  penny  — 
what  then  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand  you,  May,"  Mrs.  Jack  said,  looking 
at  her  sister  anxiously.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  Will  Ganton  marries  me  his  father  threat 
ens  to  cut  him  off  without  a  penny." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Jack  could  not  utter  a  word,  and  it 
was  several  seconds  before  she  fully  comprehended  what  her 
sister  had  said.  Then  the  blood  rushed  into  her  cheeks  and 
her  eyes  blazed  with  fury. 

"So  that  is  the  secret  of  all  this  delay,  and  that  is  why 
old  mother  Ganton  has  not  been  to  see  us  again.  John 
Ganton  does  not  think  a  daughter  of  Jem  Keating  is  good 
enough  for  his  precious  son, —  the  old  brute,  I  '11  show  him. 
As  if  he  could  pick  and  choose, —  just  a  common  butcher, 
a  pig-sticker  who  can't  write  ten  words  without  misspelling 
half  of  them.  Oh,  I  know  the  old  brute;  I  've  heard  father 

[264] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

tell  about  his  rascality.  They  were  great  friends  once,  and 
just  because  dad  got  the  better  of  him  in  a  deal  years  ago 
the  old  brute  never  forgot  it.  I  knew  he  did  not  like  us, 
but  I  '11  show  him  he  can't  lord  it  over  us, —  the  old  butcher." 
Mrs.  Jack  had  risen  from  her  seat  and  was  walking  rapidly 
to  and  fro  with  her  small  plump  hands  clenched  and  her 
features  distorted  by  passion. 

May  knew  that  these  fits  of  temper  subsided  after  a  little 
if  fuel  were  not  added  to  the  flame,  so  she  sat  still  and  waited 
for  her  sister  to  recover  her  reason.  A  disagreeable  feeling 
came  over  the  younger  girl  as  she  heard  the  rough  and 
brutal  language  roll  from  her  sister's  lips ;  could  it  be  possible 
so  coarse  a  strain  permeated  both  their  natures  ? 

After  a  time  the  storm  of  wrath  abated,  and  Mrs.  Jack 
sank  down  on  the  couch,  exclaiming: 

"Well,  why  don't  you  say  something!  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it  ?  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  That  if  he  loved  me  well  enough  to  lose  a  fortune  for 
my  sake,  I  would  marry  him  anyway." 

Mrs.   Jack  looked  at  her  sister  in  blank  amazement. 

"  May  Keating,  you  're  a  fool." 

May  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  sister's  tone  of  mingled 
contempt  and  dejection. 

"That  may  be,  Sally,  but  I  feel  more  like  marrying  Will 
Ganton  than  ever  before." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  will  throw  yourself  away  on 
that  fellow  when  he  has  n't  a  penny  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  come  in  here  to-night  with  the  intention  of 
urging  me  to  marry  'that  fellow,'  as  you  call  him,  as  soon 
as  possible  ?  "  The  query  was  sharply  put. 

"Yes;  but  I  supposed  -   "  Mrs.  Jack  floundered. 
[265] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"You  supposed  that  he  would  inherit  the  larger  share  of 
his  father's  fortune,  and  you  intended  I  should  marry  him 
for  his  money.  I  understand  perfectly;  but  now  that  his 
father  threatens  to  cut  him  off  if  he  marries  me,  and  he  is 
ready  and  willing  to  sacrifice  every  prospect  for  my  sake, 
would  you  have  me  throw  him  over,  and  by  doing  so  confess 
to  the  world  that  money  was  the  first  and  only  consideration  ? 
Could  we  afford  to  do  that  ?  " 

May  spoke  deliberately.  It  was  evident  she  had  carefully 
weighed  her  words,  and  that  she  had  not  come  to  any  hasty 
conclusion.  Mrs.  Jack  began  to  feel  the  position  as  hope 
less.  It  was  useless  to  argue,  for  she  knew  her  sister  too 
well  to  attempt  to  move  her  if  her  mind  were  once  fixed. 
Besides,  might  not  the  father  relent  ?  —  it  was  among  the 
possibilities,  and  threats  of  that  kind  were  seldom  carried 
out.  To  whom  could  John  Ganton  leave  his  money  if  not 
to  Will  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  stroke  of  good  policy  for  May 
to  marry  the  young  man,  and  thereby  prove  to  the  father 
that  no  mercenary  motives  entered  into  the  match?  Yes; 
it  was  just  one  of  old  Ganton's  tricks  to  make  sure  that  no 
girl  married  his  son  for  his  money. 

All  these  thoughts  flashed  through  Mrs.  Jack's  mind  as 
she  sat  there  looking  at  her  sister  and  listening  to  what  she 
was  saying.  When  May  definitely  announced  her  determina 
tion  to  marry  Will  Ganton  in  spite  of  all  opposition,  she 
was  surprised  to  hear  her  sister  acquiesce  without  further 
protest;  keen  as  she  was,  she  could  not  read  all  the  arguments 
that  had  flitted  through  Mrs.  Jack's  active  little  brain,  and 
Mrs.  Jack  did  not  enlighten  her. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Jack  went  into  her  husband's 
room  before  he  was  up,  seated  herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 

[266] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

and  told  him  all  that  had  passed  between  her  and  May  the 
night  before. 

Jack  Wilton  listened  drowsily.  Mrs.  Jack  had  so  many 
troubles,  so  many  squabbles  and  controversies,  that  he  had 
long  since  ceased  to  take  the  lively  interest  in  them  she 
expected  him  to  manifest.  He  liked  May,  and  could  not, 
for  the  life  of  him,  see  why  John  Ganton  should  object 
to  Will's  marrying  her. 

"  It  is  n't  May,  Jack ;  it  is  something  else,  some  old  trouble 
between  the  old  man  and  father.  I  remember  hearing  about 
it  years  ago.  I  want  you  to  go  to  Mr.  Ganton  and  have  a 
plain  talk  with  him.  May  is  your  sister-in-law,  and  it  is 
your  duty." 

By  this  time  Wilton  was  wide  awake.  He  sat  up  in  bed, 
his  stiff  brown  hair  standing  about  his  head  in  such  a  tangle 
as  to  make  him  look  exceedingly  comical. 

"The  deuce  you  do!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  Sally,  I 
can't  go  to  see  John  Ganton.  He  would  order  me  out  of  his 
office." 

"  It  is  your  duty  to  go,  Jack,"  Mrs.  Jack  insisted  firmly. 
"You  like  May,  don't  you?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  She  is  a  bully  good  girl,  and  would 
make  any  man  a  fine  wife." 

"That  is  just  what  you  must  tell  Mr.  Ganton.' 

"  Why,  Sally,  I  would  feel  like  a  fool  to  go  to  John  Ganton 
and  sing  May's  praises.  What  good  would  that  do  so  long 
as  he  does  n't  object  to  her  personally  ?  " 

"You  must  find  out  what  his  objections  are.  He  says 
he  will  not  permit  his  son  to  marry  your  sister-in-law, —  that 
concerns  you." 

Perhaps  it  was  too  early  in  the  morning  —  nearly  noon  — 
[267] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

and  he  was  not  fully  awake,  but  Wilton  could  not  get  it 
through  his  head  how  John  Ganton's  quarrel  with  Jem 
Keating  years  before  concerned  him.  Still  there  was  his 
wife  calmly  seated  on  the  side  of  the  bed  arguing  that  it  did ; 
and  there  was  May,  whom  he  liked  immensely,  and  whose 
future  happiness  was  involved.  So  at  last,  after  many 
protestations,  he  promised  to  go  and  see  John  Ganton  that 
day,  and  ask  him  his  reasons  for  opposing  the  prospective 
union.  Mrs.  Jack  thereupon  hied  herself  off  in  triumph. 

All  the  time  he  was  dressing  the  matter  weighed  heavily 
upon  Jack  Wilton,  and  the  more  he  thought  about  it  the 
less  he  liked  it.  Twice  he  cut  himself  with  his  razor,  and  he 
remained  so  long  in  his  bath  that  Mrs.  Jack  rapped  loudly 
at  the  door  to  find  out  what  he  was  doing  and  why  he  did  not 
come  down  to  breakfast.  When  he  did  come  down  his 
face  wore  such  a  sober  expression  the  Major  on  seeing  him 
called  out: 

"Why,  papa,  what 's  ze  matter  wiz  'oo?     'Oo  look  sick." 

"I  'm  not  sick.     I  'm  all  right,  Major." 

"Well,  'oo  look  sick,  anyway." 

The  Major  proceeded  to  feel  his  papa's  pulse  and  listen 
to  his  heart  and  tap  his  lungs  precisely  as  the  doctor  did  to 
him  when  he  was  sick.  The  Major  loved  to  play  doctor, 
and  nearly  everybody  in  the  house  submitted  patiently  to 
exhaustive  examinations,  often  prolonged  beyond  the  en 
durance  of  all  except  Jack  and  May,  who  never  tired  of  the 
little  fellow's  persistence. 

It  was  with  misgivings  Jack  Wilton  walked  north  in 
La  Salle  Street  to  the  great  building  wherein  Ganton  &  Co. 
had  their  offices.  He  knew  John  Ganton,  not  very  well, 
but  well  enough  to  stand  in  considerable  awe  of  the  rough 

[268] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

old  man.  His  father  and  Ganton  had  been  more  or  less 
intimately  associated  in  several  enterprises,  and  had  always 
remained  good  friends ;  but  while  Jack  Wilton  had  inherited 
his  father's  wealth  and  enough  sagacity  to  keep  it  well 
invested,  he  had  not  inherited  any  of  his  father's  devotion 
to  business;  therefore  he  and  John  Ganton  met  only  occa 
sionally. 

He  had  never  been  in  the  office  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  and  he 
felt  very  much  out  of  place  as  he  stood  beside  the  railing 
which  marked  off  a  narrow  space  near  the  door,  where  in 
truders  were  temporarily  confined  under  the  supervision  of 
an  alert  and  officious  young  fellow  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
who  asked  in  a  sharp,  quick  tone,  "  Who  do  you  wish  to  see  ?  " 

When  Wilton  said  almost  deferentially  that  he  wished 
to  see  Mr.  Ganton,  the  young  fellow  eyed  him  still  more 
critically,  as  if  he  knew  the  caller  had  no  real  business  with 
Ganton  &  Co.  However,  he  took  in  the  slip  of  paper  on 
which  Wilton  wrote  his  name  and  soon  brought  back  word 
that  Mr.  Ganton  would  be  at  liberty  in  a  moment  or  two. 

When  Wilton  entered  the  small  private  office  of  John 
Ganton,  the  latter  dropped  a  bundle  of  telegrams  he  held 
in  his  hand  and  greeted  his  visitor  cordially. 

"  Some  time  since  I  've  seen  you,  Wilton.  You  don't 
come  here  as  often  as  your  father  did." 

"No;  in  fact,  this  is  the  first  time,  Mr.  Ganton." 
Jack  did  not  feel  at  all  at  ease,  and  would  have  liked  it  better 
if  the  old  man  had  been  less  cordial.  He  knew  what  he  had 
to  say  would  not  be  taken  kindly,  and  he  was  shocked  at 
John  Ganton's  appearance.  Once  the  personification  of 
health  and  strength,  his  face  was  now  drawn  and  yellow,  and 
there  were  lines  about  the  mouth  which  could  only  come 

[269] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

from  pain  or  suffering  of  some  secret  nature.  Doubtless 
there  was  something  in  the  young  man's  face  that  betrayed 
his  thoughts,  for  John  Ganton,  with  the  sharp  intuition  of 
the  sick,  asked  querulously: 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  that  way  ? 
Do  you  think  I  look  sick  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  —  that  is,  Mr.  Ganton,  I  have  not  seen  you  for 
some  time  —  " 

"And  you  think  me  changed?  Is  that  it?"  This  time 
there  was  a  trace  of  anxiety. 

"I  suppose  we  all  change  more  or  less,"  Wilton  answered 
evasively ;  "  you  must  find  me  —  " 

"You  're  all  right;  there  's  nothing  the  matter  with  you. 

It 's  my  stomick,  John."     As  he  called  Wilton 

by  his  first  name  there  was  something  almost  pathetic  in 

the  old  man's  accent.     "  It 's  my  stomick.     I  'm  as  yellow  as 

lemon  peel.     I  suppose  I  'm  bilious." 

"You  ought  to  take  a  rest,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"No;  that  wouldn't  do  any  good.  I  don't  propose  to 
lay  down  and  die  like  a  sick  horse.  Work  's  the  best  medicine 
I  know  of, —  work,  with  a  dose  of  castor  oil  now  and  then." 

"I  sincerely  hope  you  will  be  better  soon."  Wilton 
paused,  and  as  John  Ganton  waited  for  him  to  go  on,  con 
tinued  abruptly: 

"  I  came  to  see  you  this  morning,  Mr.  Ganton,  on  a  mighty 
unpleasant  errand.  Will  is  engaged  to  my  wife's  sister,  May 
Keating." 

At  the  mention  of  the  engagement  the  old  man,  who  had 
been  sitting  hunched  forward  in  his  big  revolving  chair, 
stiffened  back,  and  all  the  yellow  of  his  face  disappeared 
before  the  rush  of  blood  that  indicated  his  anger;  from 

[270] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

beneath  his  bushy  eyebrows  he  looked  at  Wilton  as  if  he  were 
more  than  half  disposed  to  visit  his  fury  upon  him. 

In  as  conciliatory  a  manner  as  possible  Jack  continued : 

"  I  am  told  that  you  object  to  the  match,  and  I  came  to 
see  —  to  find  out  what  the  trouble  is." 

The  old  man's  face  worked  as  if  he  were  trying  to  control 
himself;  at  length  he  blurted  out: 

"  Who  sent  you  here  ?  " 

Confused  by  the  sudden  query,  Wilton  could  only 
stammer: 

"  I  came  myself,  Mr.  Ganton,  no  one  —  " 

"Yes,  there  did,  some  one  sent  you  here.  You  never 
came  on  your  own  account,  John  Wilton ;  you  've  got  more 
sense  than  to  go  about  meddling  in  what  does  not  concern 
you." 

"  But  May  Keating  is  my  sister-in-law. " 

"  That  does  n't  make  her  your  sister,  does  it  ? "  the  old 
man  asked  with  grim  sarcasm.  "  If  she  was  your  sister,  that 
would  be  different,  but  she  is  not.  She  is  the  daughter  of 
Jem  Keating;  she  has  the  old  man's  blood  running  in  her 
veins,  and  rather  than  have  a  son  of  mine  tie  up  to  any  of 
that  dirty  stock  I  would  see  him  dead." 

John  Wilton's  face  flushed.  The  old  man's  language 
came  home  to  him  through  his  wife. 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Ganton,  that  I  married  one  of  Keating's 
daughters." 

" No;  I  don't  forget  it;  and  you  're  not  likely  to  forget  it, 
if  all  I  hear  is  true."  The  eyes  under  the  bushy  eyebrows 
snapped  viciously,  and  Wilton  felt  his  heart  sink  suddenly 
as  if  he  had  been  struck  heavily  in  a  vital  place.  "  I  don't 
mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  the  old  man  continued  in  a 

[271] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

more  kindly  tone,  as  if  regretting  the  words  which  had  slipped 
between  his  lips;  "I  don't  believe  all  I  hear,  but  blood  will 
tell,  and  I  don't  want  any  of  Jem  Keating's  mixed  with  mine. 
.  That 's  all  I  have  to  say." 

John  Wilton  had  risen  from  his  chair,  hat  in  hand.  He, 
too,  had  nothing  more  to  say  —  what  could  he  say  ?  How 
could  he  resent  the  brutal  language  which  had  struck  home  ? 
Had  he  not  invited  it  by  his  visit,  by  meddling  in  matters 
which  did  not  concern  him  ?  Above  all,  was  it  not 

true  that  people  did  talk  ? 

As  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  out  without  a  word, 
John  Ganton  half  started  from  his  chair  as  if  to  stop  him  and 
make  further  amends  for  what  he  had  said,  but  he  sank  back, 
asking  himself  what  would  be  the  good  ?  Even  his  coarse 
sensibilities  realized  that  what  was  said  could  not  be  unsaid, — 
to  try  to  explain  would  only  make  a  bad  matter  worse. 

Wilton  did  not  tell  his  wife  all  John  Ganton  had  said. 
It  would  have  created  a  scene,  and  he  did  not  like  scenes 
with  Mrs.  Jack.  But  he  could  not  disguise  the  unpleasant 
truth  that  Ganton  would  not  permit  his  son  to  marry  a 
daughter  of  Jem  Keating;  that  much  he  had  to  tell  his  wife, 
though  he  tried  in  a  clumsy  way  to  tell  it  diplomatically. 
Mrs.  Jack,  however,  was  not  to  be  deceived;  her  husband's 
embarrassment  told  her  more  than  his  words,  and  she  sus 
pected  things  had  been  said  he  was  not  willing  to  repeat. 
As  she  listened  without  a  word,  her  small  eyes  flashed  omi 
nously  and  her  round,  plump  cheeks  became  red  as  fire. 
Wilton  knew  the  tempest  was  about  to  break. 

"So,"  she  screamed,  "the  old  brute,  the  old  villain,  the 
old  pig-sticker,  thinks  we  are  not  good  enough  for  him, 

[272] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

and  sets  himself  up  above  Jem  Keating, —  the  old  butcher ! 
There  are  those  who  remember  when  he  drove  his  own  cart, 
and  sold  meat  on  the  street, —  the  old  sausage-maker!  Now 
because  he  's  rich  he  thinks  he  owns  the  earth;  but  I  '11 
show  him  there  are  some  things  he  can't  do.  I  '11  show 
him  —  I  '11  show  him,  the  old  -  Mrs.  Jack  was  so 
excited  that  she  could  not  sit  still,  but  walked  to  and  fro  with 
her  small,  round  fists  tightly  clenched. 

Wilton  waited  for  her  anger  to  subside.  At  length  he 
asked  in  a  soft  tone: 

"What  is  to  be  done  now,  Sally?" 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  fresh  burst  of 
irritation ;  "  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Why,  get  rid  of  his  precious 
son  in  some  way;  show  him  that  we  don't  care  for  him  and 
his  money." 

"  But  how  ?  "  urged  Wilton,  mildly.  "  Remember  every 
body  knows  of  the  engagement,  and  May  —  you  must  con 
sider  May,  Sally.  It  won't  do  to  — 

"  Never  you  mind,  May  and  I  can  take  care  of  ourselves. 
We  are  not  asking  old  John  Ganton  for  any  favors."  At  the 
same  time  Mrs.  Jack  appreciated,  even  more  keenly  than  her 
husband,  all  the  embarrassing  features  of  the  situation.  What 
excuse  could  be  given  for  breaking  the  engagement  ?  Every 
body  would  know  it  was  on  account  of  John  Ganton's  oppo 
sition  and  his  threat  to  disinherit  his  son.  That  was  the 
worst  of  it ;  people  would  say  her  sister  was  willing  to  marry 
the  old  man's  money,  but  not  his  son  without  the  money. 
May's  chances  for  the  future  would  be  seriously  jeoparded; 
and  mingled  with  these  thoughts  there  flitted  through  Mrs. 
Jack's  scheming  little  brain  notions  of  revenge  on  John 
Ganton.  How  could  she  get  even  with  the  old  man  ?  How 

[273] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

could  she  pay  him  back  ?  It  was  with  a  thrill  of  exultation 
that  the  thought  occurred  to  her  how  glorious  it  would  be  to 
defy  the  old  man  to  his  face,  by  going  ahead  with  the  mar 
riage!  That  would  exasperate  him  more  than  anything 
else.  She  dismissed  the  thought  instantly.  Why  should 
May  throw  herself  away  upon  Will  Ganton  if  he  had  no 
money  ?  That  would  be  a  fine  outcome  after  all  her  schem 
ing  ;  why,  she  would  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  city ! 

When  she  told  her  sister  what  she  had  done,  how  Jack 
had  called  upon  John  Ganton,  and  the  result  of  the  interview, 
May  listened,  surprised  and  silent,  and  said : 

"I  am  sorry  you  did  it,  Sally;  it  could  do  no  good.  You 
ought  to  have  spoken  to  me." 

"  Well,  I  did  it  for  the  best.  I  thought  Jack  might  have 
some  influence.  Any  way,  it  's  a  family  matter,  and  it  was 
his  duty." 

"  No ;  it  is  not  a  family  matter,  and  it  was  not  his  duty  to 
interfere;  the  objection  is  not  on  Jack's  account,  but  on  ours. 
I  dare  say  Mr.  Ganton  would  be  glad  to  have  Will  marry 
into  the  Wilton  family."  The  last  words  were  uttered  with 
a  bitter  ring,  which  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Jack,  and  she 
answered  with  irritation: 

"  That  may  be ;  but  John  Ganton  need  not  hold  his  head 
so  high  above  us.  He  's  no  better  than  father." 

"Possibly  not  half  so  good,"  May  Keating  responded 
slowly;  "but  he  has  been  successful,  and  success  covers  a 
greater  multitude  of  sins  than  charity." 

"Well,  how  are  you  going  to  get  rid  of  the  young  man, 
May  ?  "  her  sister  asked  suddenly.  May  Keating  looked  at 
Mrs.  Jack's  troubled  face  for  a  moment  or  two  with  a  quiz 
zical  look  in  her  dark  blue  eyes,  and  replied  deliberately: 

[274] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

"I  don't  intend  to  get  rid  of  him." 

Mrs.  Jack  looked  up  in  amazement.  "You  don't  mean 
to  say,  May  Keating,  that  you  really  intend  to  marry  him 
without  a  penny  ?  " 

"Yes;  that  is  just  what  I  mean  to  say,  Sally.  I  have 
thought  it  all  over,  and  it  is  the  only  decent  thing  to  do.  We 
have  staked  our  all,"  she  continued  more  bitterly,  "  and  must 
play  the  game  out.  I  cannot  quite  bring  myself  to  tell  him 
I  accepted  him  only  for  his  money.  The  only  doubt  I  have 
is  whether  I  should  permit  him  to  make  the  sacrifice, — 
whether  I  should  not  say  no,  for  his  own  sake." 

"Of  course  you  should,"  Mrs.  Jack  interrupted  eagerly, 
catching  at  the  suggestion  as  a  possible  line  of  argument 
which  might  swerve  her  sister's  determination;  "it  is  not 
right  to  permit  him  to  give  up  his  prospects." 

May  Keating  smiled  sadly.  She  understood  only  too 
well  the  selfish  thoughts  underlying  Mrs.  Jack's  sudden 
solicitude  for  Will  Ganton ;  she  knew  that  if  her  sister  could 
then  and  there  subject  John  Ganton  and  every  member  of 
his  family  to  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  she  would  take  a 
more  than  Satanic  pleasure  in  doing  it. 

"No,  Sally,  we  have  gone  too  far;  if  Will  Ganton  wishes 
it  I  shall  marry  him,  and  take  my  chances  on  bringing  the 
father  around  later.  If  I  really  thought  I  should  be  the  cause 
of  his  being  cut  off  I  would  drop  him  for  his  own  sake, —  I 
like  him  well  enough  for  that.  But  there  's  many  a  slip 
'twixt  the  threat  and  the  whip." 

Mrs.  Jack  looked  at  her  sister  inquiringly.  She  could 
not  quite  make  out  what  was  passing  in  May's  mind;  how 
ever,  since  she  was  determined  to  go  ahead  regardlessly, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  make  the  best  of  the  situa- 

[275] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

tion,  and  hope  matters  might  take  a  more  favorable  turn. 
Perhaps  John  Ganton  would  relent,  as  fathers  usually  do; 
perhaps  Will  Ganton  would  do  something,  and  the  engage 
ment  might  be  broken  for  good  cause;  perhaps  — 

"Jack  said  John  Ganton  was  not  looking  well,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  if  an  idea  had  suddenly  struck  her. 

Again  a  faint  smile  hovered  about  May  Keating's  firm 
mouth;  it  was  not  difficult  to  follow  the  thoughts  of  her 
sister,  even  if  they  did  take  surprising  turns. 

"  Did  he  ?  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  she  answered  indiffer 
ently. 

"Yes.  He  said  he  was  looking  very  bad, —  yellow  and 
drawn.  Hasn't  Will  said  anything  about  his  father's  health  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  believe  so;  I  do  not  remember  what,  some 
trouble  with  the  stomach, —  nothing  serious  apparently." 

"  No  one  can  tell.  Jack  says  the  old  man  looks  very  bad ; 
why  not  wait  — 

"Until  the  father  dies,"  May  interrupted,  and  continued 
ironically,  "  but  you  see,  Sally,  he  may  live  twenty  or  thirty 
years.  Besides,  I  should  not  know  how  to  suggest  such  a 
course.  Perhaps  you  could  arrange  it,  or  Jack  might." 

Mrs.  Jack  jumped  up,  impatient  and  angry. 

"  Do  as  you  please,  May  Keating ;  but  you  may  be  sorry 
in  the  end.  That 's  all  I  have  to  say,"  and  she  started  to 
leave  the  room.  But  May  clasped  her  about  the  neck,  ex 
claiming  with  a  sob  in  her  throat : 

"Oh,  Sally,  I  am  sorry  now;  sorry  I  ever  met  him,  sorry 
it  has  all  gone  so  far.  But  it  can't  be  helped  now.  I  shall 
keep  my  word;  besides,"  she  continued,  half  arguing  to  her 
self,  "  there  is  more  to  him  than  I  thought.  I  like  him  better 
than  I  did." 

[276] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

"But  you  don't  love  him,  May,"  her  sister  interrupted 
quickly,  "you  don't  love  him." 

"  No;  and  yet  I  like  him  better  than  I  did  at  first.  Every 
man  has  his  faults,  and  there  are  worse  than  Will  Ganton 
—  much  worse,"  she  repeated  almost  to  herself.  She  drew 
her  sister  close  to  her,  "  I  want  you  and  Jack  to  understand 
if  I  marry  him  it  is  because  I  think  it  is  the  only  thing  to  do, 
—  there!"  Before  she  coul'd  turn  away  Mrs.  Jack  gave 
her  a  good  hug  and  kiss ;  it  was  not  difficult  to  turn  her  im 
pulsive  heart,  and  she  vowed  to  herself  on  the  spot  that  she 
and  Jack  would  stand  by  May  through  thick  and  thin. 

When  Mrs.  Jack  told  Lawrence  Delaney  of  May's  deter 
mination  to  marry  Will  Ganton  in  spite  of  the  father's  oppo 
sition,  Delaney  shook  his  head  doubtfully  without  saying  a 
word. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped  anyway,"  said  Mrs.  Jack  im 
patiently.  "  Why  do  you  look  so  ?  " 

"The  old  man  is  an  ugly  customer  and  apt  to  keep  his 
word." 

"  Surely  he  would  n't  cut  Will  off  without  a  cent-." 

"If  he  says  he  will,  he  '11  do  it." 

"That  would  be  too  disgraceful."  Mrs.  Jack  could  not 
bring  herself  to  believe  that  John  Ganton  would  go  quite  so 
far.  He  might  cut  down  Will's  share  in  his  estate ;  that  would 
be  bad  enough, —  but  to  cut  him  off  entirely?  It  did  not 
seem  possible, 

"Why  can't  they  wait  a  while?"  Delaney  continued 
thoughtfully.  "  I  saw  the  old  man  on  the  street  this  morning. 
He  looked  sick,  yellow,  and  haggard.  They  say  he  has  been 
looking  bad  lately,  and  it  struck  me  there  must  be  something 

[277] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

serious  the  matter  with  him.  Why  not  wait  ?  If  anything 
should  happen  - 

"That  's  just  what  I  have  urged,"  Mrs.  Jack  interrupted 
earnestly.  "  I  have  told  May  to  wait,  but  she  won't  listen  to 
reason.  She  is  bent  on  marrying  Will  Ganton  while  his 
father  is  alive,  just  to  show  the  old  brute  she  does  not  care 
for  his  money." 

Delaney  smiled.  He  admired  May  Keating's  pluck  and 
determination,  but  at  the  same  time  he  thought  she  was  act 
ing  foolishly. 

"  Money  is  too  good  a  friend  or  too  relentless  an  enemy 
to  be  treated  lightly,"  he  commented.  "  I  wish  I  had  more 
of  it." 

At  Mrs.  Jack's  request  Delaney  tried  to  convince  May  it 
would  be  the  better  part  of  discretion  to  wait  for  a  time ;  but 
without  success. 

"There  is  no  use  talking,  Larry,"  she  replied  firmly,  "my 
mind  is  made  up.  I  was  willing  to  sell  myself  for  his  father's 
millions,  and  it  is  rather  more  creditable  to  give  myself  for 
nothing.  However,  I  am  not  seeking  applause.  I  am  going 
to  marry  Will  Ganton  because  —  I  am.  It 's  a  woman's  rea 
son,  but  in  this  case  a  good  one.  I  will  take  my  chances." 

Delaney  looked  at  the  firmly  set  mouth  of  the  young 
woman  sitting  in  front  of  him,  and  felt  it  would  be  quite  idle 
to  pursue  the  subject  further.  At  the  same  time  he  was 
curious,  in  a  friendly  way,  to  know  the  real  motives  that 
prompted  her;  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  it  was 
anything  like  love  for  Will  Ganton. 

"  I  believe  you  are  going  to  marry  him,  May,  just  to  spite 
his  father;  to  be  revenged  for  the  slur  upon  your  own  father." 

"Possibly  I  am,  but  whether  I  am  or  not,  John  Ganton 
[278] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

and  the  rest  of  the  world  will  be  convinced  that  a  '  Keating 
girl ' ;  —  there  was  a  ring  of  scorn  in  her  voice  —  "  can  marry 
for  something  besides  money."  After  a  pause,  she  con 
tinued  in  another  tone :  "  Oh,  Larry,  how  sick  I  am  of  it  all ! 
What  is  marriage  anyway  but  a  bargain  and  sale  ?  People 
talk  of  marrying  for  love.  Is  there  such  a  thing  ?  " 

That  was  too  closely  in  line  with  Delaney's  own  philosophy 
for  him  to  argue  in  opposition,  but  he  urged : 

"Admitting  all  that  to  be  true,  May,  what  are  the  con 
siderations  which  compel  you  to  act  so  hastily  in  this  matter  ? 
I  cannot  see  the  necessity." 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  I  hardly  know  myself.  All  I  do  know 
is,  that  my  mind  is  made  up.  .  .  .  Now,  Larry,  let 's  not 
debate  the  matter  any  more.  I  expect  you  to  help  me  make 
the  best  of  a  situation  which  will  have  plenty  of  disagreeable 
features;  the  engagement  will  be  formally  announced,  and 
the  date  of  the  wedding  fixed,  all  very  soon." 

"I  don't  envy  Will  Ganton, —  at  home,  I  mean,"  De- 
laney  hastened  to  add  with  a  smile. 

"  That  is  his  lookout ;  he  has  something  of  his  father  in 
him,  and  it  may  be  a  case  of  Greek  meeting  Greek." 

Delaney  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  He  knew  Will  better 
than  May  knew  him.  While  the  son  had  something  of  the 
ugly  temper  and  brute  strength  of  the  father,  he  lacked  en 
tirely  those  masterful  qualities  which  made  men  fear  the  old 
man. 

John  Ganton  said  nothing  to  Will  about  the  conversa 
tion  with  Wilton;  he  waited.  He  believed  that  when  Mrs. 
Jack  and  her  sister  learned  that  in  no  circumstances  would  he 
countenance  the  match  they  would  find  a  way  to  break  it  off. 

[279] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"All  those  girls  are  after  is  money,"  he  said  to  Browning. 
"  There  's  nothing  they  would  like  better  than  to  get  hold  of 
some  of  mine,  but  they  won't  —  not  a  cent,  Browning,  not  a 
red  cent,"  his  voice  rising  as  he  repeated  the  phrase.  "  I  'm 
sorry  for  Wilton,"  he  continued  more  mildly,  "he  's  a  well- 
meaning  fellow,  but  he  got  roped  in  like  a  steer  by  that  Sally 
Keating;  they  say  she  leads  him  a  lively  dance.  It 's  in  the 
blood,  Browning;  they  're  rotten  to  the  core." 

Browning  said  nothing.  He  knew  this  talk  about  Will's 
engagement  worried  John  Ganton,  and  he  was  sorry  for  the 
old  man.  Both  he  and  his  wife  thought  Will  was  making 
a  mistake.  They  never  entered  the  social  circle  wherein 
Mrs.  Jack  shone.  Knowing  her  only  by  sight  and  hearsay, 
Mrs.  Browning  had  all  the  prejudice  and  secret  envy  of  the 
woman  who  is  just  without  the  exclusive  line.  She  would 
have  given  anything  to  be  on  calling  terms  with  Mrs.  Jack, 
and  since  she  was  not,  she  lost  no  opportunity  of  repeating 
and  accentuating  every  bit  of  gossip  she  heard.  Returning 
from  one  of  her  numerous  clubs  one  afternoon,  she  said  to 
Browning : 

"  It 's  a  shame  the  way  Mrs.  Jack  Wilton  carries  on  with 
that  Lawrence  Delaney!  They  say  he  is  with  her  all  the 
time;  dining  and  driving  and  sitting  about  the  clubs.  It  is 
scandalous.  I  don't  see  how  her  husband  permits  it,  but 
some  men  are  so  blind.  They  say  John  Wilton  is  a  very  nice 
man,  much  too  good  for  her."  The  good  woman  ran  on  in 
a  torrent  of  words,  her  usual  manner,  and  wound  up  with 
the  question,  "  Who  is  this  Delaney,  anyway  ?  " 

"A  stock-broker.  I  don't  knowT  much  about  him, — 
from  New  York,  I  believe,"  Browning  replied  without  look 
ing  up  from  his  evening  paper. 

[280] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

"  They  say  he  's  a  sort  of  an  adventurer,  and  yet  no  one 
knows  just  who  he  is.  He  's  a  great  friend  of  Will  Ganton's, 
is  n't  he  ?  " 

Browning  had  no  intention  of  giving  his  wife  any  definite 
information  along  that  line;  she  would  be  altogether  too 
apt  to  use  it  to  some  one's  discomfiture, —  quite  likely  his 
own. 

"I  suppose  they  meet  occasionally  at  the  clubs,"  he  an 
swered  evasively. 

"  Well,  I  heard  to-day  that  this  Delaney  is  little  better  than 
a  common  gambler,  and  that  Will  has  lost  no  end  of  money 
to  him, —  you  ought  to  know." 

The  last  remark  was  uttered  in  tones  so  pointed  that 
Browning  could  not  wholly  ignore  it  without  the  appearance 
of  concealing  something,  sq,he  answered,  with  an  air  of  frank 
ness  which  threw  his  wife  off  her  guard : 

'There  's  nothing  in  it  except  that  Will,  like  most  young 
fellows  nowadays,  occasionally  takes  a  flyer  in  stocks.  Some 
times  he  wins,  sometimes  he  loses." 

"  Is  he  going  to  marry  Mrs.  Jack's  sister  ?  " 

"How  do  I  know?" 

"Well,  you  ought  to  interest  yourself  if  you  care  any 
thing  about  him,  for  they  say  she  is  worse  than  her  sister. 
She  had  a  love  affair  at  Newport  two  or  three  summers  ago, 
but  nothing  came  of  it.  She  wants  Will  Ganton  for  his 
money.  Those  Keating  girls  will  stop  at  nothing.  It 's  a 
shame.  You  'd  better  talk  to  Will,  and  tell  him  plainly  what 
people  say.  It  might  open  his  eyes." 

Browning  did  talk  to  Will,  not  to  tell  him  what  people 
were  saying  or  to  open  his  eyes  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
Mrs.  Browning,  but  because  he  honestly  thought  Will  was 

[281] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

making  a  great  mistake  in  sacrificing  his  future  by  marrying 
a  scheming  girl. 

Will  listened  to  all  Browning  had  to  say.  The  talk  was 
well  meant,  but  it  did  no  good.  A  stubborn  look  came  over 
the  young  man's  face,  a  look  Browning  knew  only  too  well 
as  a  weaker  reflection  of  the  will  of  the  father. 

"I  know  you  mean  all  right,  Browning,  but  I  asked 
her  to  marry  me  when  I  thought  I  would  have  an  interest 
in  the  company  some  day  and  be  a  rich  man,  and  I  don't 
propose  to  back  out  now.  If  father  wants  to  cut  me  off, 
that  is  his  lookout,  —  I  guess  I  can  take  care  of  myself 
somehow.  He  's  down  on  her  just  because  he  had  some 
trouble  with  her  father  years  ago;  I  don't  see  the  sense 
of  that." 

"  He  's  down  on  the  daughter  because  he  thinks  she  may 
have  inherited  some  of  her  father's  characteristics,"  Brown 
ing  urged,  as  gently  as  he  could. 

"That  's  all  nonsense,  and  you  know  it,  Browning." 

Browning  did  not  know  it  —  on  the  contrary  he  believed 
John  Ganton  was  right,  —  but  he  could  not  tell  Will  that 
in  so  many  words. 

"I  tell  you  she  is  the  finest  girl  in  the  world,  Browning, 
and  much  too  good  for  me ;  when  father  comes  to  know  her 
he  will  change  his  mind." 

So  that  was  the  direction  in  which  hope  lay,  that  John 
Ganton  himself  would  fall  under  the  spell  and  yield  to  the 
young  woman's  charms, —  well,  who  could  tell  ? 

Browning  did  venture  to  suggest  they  should  wait  for  a 
time,  the  thought  that  had  occurred  to  Delaney;  but  Will 
would  not  listen  to  it  for  a  moment. 

"Father  is  all  right.  His  stomach  is  out  of  order,  that 
[282] 


Blood  Will  Tell 

is  all.  If  he  wouid  quit  taking  big  doses  of  castor  oil  and  go 
and  see  a  doctor  he  would  be  all  right  in  no  time." 

"I  wish  he  would  see  a  doctor,"  Browning  said  earnestly, 
"  I  don't  like  his  looks." 

"  But  he  won't.  He  's  as  stubborn  as  a  mule  on  that 
point." 


[283] 


CHAPTER   XVII 

JOHN   GANTON'S  REMORSE 

INDEED,  John  Ganton's  condition  caused  Browning  great 
anxiety.  There  were  mornings  when  the  old  man  would 
come  down  "  feeling  first  rate, "  as  he  expressed  it,  but 
his  skin  never  lost  the  yellow  look,  and  he  became  thinner. 

"I  'm  thinning  down  somewhat,"  he  said;  "but  that's 
all  right.  I  can  stand  losing  a  little  fat." 

He  persistently  kept  his  mind  on  the  bright  side,  and 
would  not  admit  he  was  ill.  The  inquiries  of  acquaintances 
who  were  struck  by  his  changed  appearance,  the  solicitude 
of  friends  and  business  associates,  annoyed  him  so  that  he 
either  avoided  answering  their  questions  or  replied  so  im 
patiently  that  soon  nearly  everybody  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact  understood  how  he  felt  and  refrained  from  asking 
about  his  health.  It  pleased  him  greatly  if  men  on  meeting 
him  remarked,  "How  well  you  are  looking,  Mr.  Ganton!" 
He  knew  he  was  not  looking  well,  and  he  knew  they  said 
it  to  flatter  him,  nevertheless  he  derived  satisfaction  from 
these  hollow  assurances. 

In  the  street  he  made  an  effort  to  walk  with  the  same 
vigor,  and  at  conferences  and  directors'  meetings  he  en 
deavored  to  suppress  every  sign  of  weakness  and  suffering; 
but  in  his  own  office  it  was  different.  There  he  yielded  to 
the  lassitude  that  frequently  overcame  him.  Browning 
often  found  him  hunched  down  in  his  big  chair  half  dozing, 
with  his  head  dropped  forward  on  his  breast  and  his  letters 

[284] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

and  telegrams  before  him  unread.  He  aroused  himself  with 
a  start,  and  tried  by  sudden  activity  to  disguise  the  fact  he 
had  been  half  asleep,  but  one  day  he  said  apologetically : 

"  Did  n't  sleep  very  well  last  night,  Browning ;  there  's 
something  wrong  with  my  stomick.  I  can't  eat  as  I  used  to ; 
nearly  everything  I  eat  goes  back  on  me.  There  's  a  sort  of 
dull  ache  down  here."  He  put  his  hand  on  the  right  side  of 
his  body  just  below  the  ribs. 

"It  must  be  your  liver,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"Maybe  it  is,  maybe  it  is,"  he  repeated.  "I  guess  I  '11 
take  a  blue-pill, —  that  '11  fix  the  liver  all  right."  He  bright 
ened  up  at  the  thought  of  a  medicine  he  had  not  tried  for  a 
long  time.  "  I  had  n't  thought  of  that.  I  can't  eat  as  I 
used  to,"  he  repeated  almost  mechanically. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  see  a  doctor  ?  "  Brown 
ing  ventured  to  suggest  again.  The  old  man's  face  instantly 
clouded  over  and  he  said  curtly: 

"I  'm  not  ready  to  die  just  yet." 

The  suggestion  of  a  doctor  acted  like  a  tonic.  It  braced 
him  up,  and  for  a  time  he  seemed  to  fight  his  ills  and  pains, — 
but  only  for  a  time.  The  dull  pain  in  his  right  side  came 
back  with  increasing  frequency,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  doses 
he  could  not  overcome  the  discomfort  felt  after  every  meal. 

Out  at  the  Yards  one  day  he  met  old  Doc  Ruggles,  the 
veterinary  surgeon  who  for  a  stipulated  sum  per  annum 
looked  after  Ganton  &  Co.'s  horses.  Everybody  and  nearly 
every  horse  in  the  Yards  knew  Doc.  He  was  a  character;  he 
went  about  with  his  hands  stained  brown  from  the  mixtures 
he  used,  and  with  his  clothes  smelling  of  horse  liniment. 

"  Doc  knows  his  business,"  the  men  were  accustomed  to 
say;  " if  he  can't  cure  a  horse  he  '11  kill  him." 

[285] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

He  took  no  stock  in  the  more  modern  methods  of  the 
young  graduates  of  veterinary  colleges;  Doc  had  acquired 
his  knowledge  by  hard  knocks  and  still  harder  kicks.  Not 
infrequently  a  horse  manifested  its  objection  to  the  bitter 
doses  and  hot  irons,  and  hoofed  Doc  across  the  stable,  but 
that  was  invariably  accepted  as  a  good  sign, —  the  horse 
would  recover.  He  had  passed  through  the  rough  school 
of  experience,  and  his  only  diploma  was  a  supreme  confidence 
in  his  own  ability.  He  practised  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  a 
pair  of  stained  and  discolored  overalls,  once  blue.  If  he 
did  not  know  what  ailed  a  horse  he  gave  it  something  that 
brought  on  symptoms  he  did  understand,  whereupon  he 
doctored  those  symptoms.  His  method  was  summed  up 
in  strong  doses  and  big  blisters.  He  administered  his 
medicines  by  tying  a  horse's  head  to  a  rafter  and  squirting 
a  quart  of  evil  smelling  and  still  more  evil  tasting  liquid  down 
the  poor  animal's  throat.  There  was  not  much  variety  in 
the  mixtures,  as  the  same  formula  seemed  to  answer  for 
every  equine  ill,  and  there  was  no  fooling  or  dilly-dallying  or 
coddling.  The  horse  was  expected  to  take  his  medicine  and 
go  to  work  the  next  morning,  and  those  that  did  not  die  over 
night  usually  met  Doc's  expectations. 

John  Ganton  had  known  Ruggles  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  and  his  confidence  in  the  medical  skill  of  the  old 
veterinary  was  measured  by  Doc's  confidence  in  himself, 
—  nothing  could  shake  it. 

When  they  met  at  the  Yards  on  the  day  referred  to,  Doc 
was  grinding  a  brown  powder  in  an  old  iron  mortar,  and  did 
not  look  up  until  Ganton  called  out: 

"Well,  Doc,  how  are  all  the  horses?" 

Straightening  up,  Ruggles  was  about  to  reply  when  he 
[286] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

caught  sight  of  John  Ganton's  face,  and  was  so  shocked  he 
could  not  conceal  it. 

"  The  horses  are  all  right,  Mr.  Ganton.  A  few  down  with 
the  epizoo-tic,  no  more  than  ordinary.  But  what 's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  You  look  sicker  'n  any  horse  I've  got 
on  my  hands." 

A  painful  smile  spread  over  John  Ganton's  yellow  features, 
as  he  tried  to  make  light  of  his  condition. 

"  I  'm  all  right.  It 's  my  stomick,  Doc.  I  can't  eat  as 
I  used  to." 

"  I  should  say  it 's  your  liver  from  that  complexion  of 
your'n, —  too  much  bile." 

"  Do  you  think  that 's  it  ? "  the  old  man  asked  eagerly. 
"Browning  said  it  must  be  my  liver.  Look  here,  Doc," 
he  blurted  out,  "  what 's  good  for  the  liver  ?  " 

"Well,"  Ruggles  drawled  as  he  looked  the  old  man  over 
critically,  "if  you  was  a  horse  I  could  cure  you  in  about 
two  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail.  What  you  need  is  a  mixture  to 
knock  that  bile  out  of  you, —  that 's  all  you  need.  I  can 
fix  you  up  something  I  take  myself,  but  it  won't  taste  as 
sweet  as  honey;  I  don't  use  any  sugar-coatin'  on  my  pills." 
Doc  laughed,  for  he  always  said  that  to  the  men  in  the 
Yards  when  he  dosed  them  for  their  occasional  ailments. 
"  I  don't  give  no  baby  food  that  slips  down  so  easy  you  don't 
know  it 's  there." 

"Go  ahead,  Doc,"  the  old  man  eagerly  replied;  "fix 
me  up  something,  and  if  you  can  bring  me  around  all  right 
I  '11  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"  I  '11  send  a  bottle  of  stuff  around  to  the  office  in  an 
hour.  You  take  a  tablespoonful  before  going  to  bed  and 
in  the  morning  soon  as  you  get  up,  and  if  you  don't  feel  like 

[287] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

a  new  man  in  a  week  I  '11  take  down  my  sign.  It 's  bile, 
that 's  all  it  is." 

Ruggles  was  so  sure  of  his  opinion  that  John  Ganton 
felt  greatly  reassured,  and  walked  off  in  better  spirits  than 
he  had  been  in  for  some  time. 

"  He  knew  just  as  soon  as  he  looked  at  me  what  was  the 
matter,"  he  said  to  himself;  "that  comes  of  experience.  I 
wish  I  had  seen  Doc  before.  He  's  better  than  any  of 
those  fellows  down  town  who  charge  ten  dollars  for  just 
looking  at  a  man,  and  then  don't  know  what 's  the  matter 
more  'n  half  the  time." 

At  night  when  John  Ganton  swallowed  the  first  table- 
spoonful  of  the  rankly  bitter  mixture,  his  face  betrayed  his 
disgust. 

"What  are  you  taking  now,  John?"  his  wife  timidly 
asked. 

"Was  out  at  the  Yards  this  afternoon,  and  Ruggles  — 
you  remember  Doc  Ruggles  ? —  said  all  I  needed  was  some 
thing  for  my  liver,  so  he  gave  me  this  medicine." 

"Why,  he  is  only  a  horse  doctor.     Ain't  you  afraid?" 

"  I  'd  as  soon  trust  him  as  any  one.  This  is  something 
he  takes  himself  when  his  liver  is  out  of  order.  Ugh!  but 
it 's  bitter.  You  have  n't  a  lump  of  sugar,  have  you  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  can  run  down  and  get  you  one  in  a  minute." 

When  she  returned  Ganton  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 

bed,   leaning   forward   with   his   hands   on   his   knees.     He 

looked   so   sick  as   he   sat   there  half  undressed    she  was 

alarmed. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  wish  you  would  see  a 
doctor." 

"No,  no,"  he  answered  impatiently;  "I  don't  want  no 
[288] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

doctor.  I  '11  come  out  all  right.  It 's  my  liver, —  that 's 
all."  As  he  spoke  he  passed  his  hand  slowly  across  the  pit 
of  his  stomach,  as  if  in  pain. 

"  Do  you  feel  bad  ?  "  she  anxiously  inquired. 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  a  dull  ache  around  here,  and  now  and 
then  a  shooting  pain.  I  never  had  anything  like  it  before, 
Maria,  and  it  hangs  on  so."  There  was  a  helpless  ring  to  his 
voice  that  was  pathetic.  His  wife  had  never  before  seen 
him  sick  for  more  than  a  day  or  two,  and  then  only  with  some 
insignificant  ailment  which  readily  yielded  to  his  heroic 
treatment.  Now,  however,  he  seemed  to  suffer  nearly  all 
the  time,  and  she  could  see  that  so  far  from  improving  from 
week  to  week,  he  got  worse;  his  skin  became  more  yellow, 
his  features  more  drawn,  he  lost  flesh;  more  and  more 
frequently  he  sat  down  at  the  table  and  suddenly  pushed 
his  plate  to  one  side,  saying,  "I  can't  eat  anything,  Maria, 
my  appetite  's  gone  all  at  once."  At  other  times  when  he 
did  eat,  the  food  distressed  him,  and  he  sometimes  lay 
down  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  to  complain  of  "wind  on 
my  stomick,  and  shooting  pains." 

For  a  long  time  he  impatiently  rejected  every  offer  on  her 
part  to  try  to  do  something  to  relieve  him,  but  of  late  he  had 
submitted  to  the  application  of  a  hot-water  bag  to  the  pit 
of  his  stomach  when  the  pains  were  very  severe.  That 
helped ;  under  the  gentle  radiation  of  the  heat  the  disagree 
able  sensations  subsided,  and  often  he  fell  asleep,  to  awake 
much  refreshed.  When  down  town,  he  could  not  rest 
after  luncheon,  and  there  was  no  one  to  get  him  a  hot -water 
bag,  so  he  was  obliged  to  get  along  as  best  he  could.  He 
soon  learned  that  if  he  ate  little  luncheon  he  could  get  through 
the  afternoon  very  well;  some  days  he  got  very  hungry,  but 

[289] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

either  ate  nothing  at  all  or  drank  only  a  glass  of  milk,  which 
did  not  distress  him  so  much  as  solid  food. 

He  took  Ruggles's  bitter  brown  mixture  faithfully  as 
directed,  and  strange  to  say,  felt  much  better.  Each  time 
he  took  the  awful  dose  he  experienced  the  satisfaction  of  a 
man  who  deals  his  foe  a  vigorous  and  telling  blow.  Like 
most  men,  he  had  faith  in  mixtures  in  proportion  to  their 
disagreeable  qualities,  treating  disease  as  if  it  were  some 
thing  to  be  reached  only  by  sledge-hammer  shocks. 

For  some  time  he  ate  better,  his  skin  regained  some  of  its 
normal  color,  his  eye  became  brighter,  and  he  felt,  as  he 
expressed  it,  more  like  himself.  Browning  was  quick  to 
notice  the  improvement,  and  congratulated  him. 

"That 's  right,  Browning;  I  have  n't  felt  so  well  in  a  long 
time.  Would  you  like  to  know  who  did  it  ?  "  He  looked  at 
Browning  with  a  cunning  twinkle  in  his  gray  eyes.  "None 
of  your  high-falutin'  pill-pedlers  down  town  here;  it  was 
Doc  Ruggles  out  at  the  Yards.  He  gave  me  some  medicine 
that  fixed  my  liver  all  right,  and  I  can  eat  now  just  about  as 
well  as  ever." 

"Well,  one  can  never  tell,  Mr.  Ganton.  Sometimes  a 
home-made  remedy  is  just  as  good  as  a  fancy  prescription." 

"  Better,  Browning, —  better,  I  say.  A  good  old-fashioned 
dose  goes  straight  to  the  spot;  I  would  n't  give  a  picayune 
for  a  cart-load  of  the  lollipops  they  fix  up  nowadays  at  the 
drug  stores.  But  I  tell  you  it 's  bitterer  'n  gall,"  —  the 
grimace  on  the  old  man's  features  expressed  the  disagree 
able  nature  of  the  mixture  more  eloquently  than  words. 

During  the  weeks  he  felt  better  John  Ganton  plunged 
into  business  with  renewed  energy;  it  was  as  if  he  had 
been  taking  a  vacation,  holding  aloof  for  a  time  and  gather- 

[290] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

ing  up  his  strength.  He  kept  his  great  office  force  in  a  tur 
moil;  he  was  active  at  the  Yards,  on  the  Board,  and  on 
'Change;  he  made  his  influence  felt  in  each  of  the  great 
packing  centres,  and  he  even  made  a  trip  to  Omaha  and 
Kansas  City,  and  planned  large  additions  to  his  already 
enormous  plants  at  those  two  points.  With  something  like 
his  old  interest  he  read  the  cables  and  letters  from  the  foreign 
representatives,  and  seemed  to  know  intuitively  what  was 
going  on  in  distant  quarters  of  the  globe;  he  never  debated 
a  moment  the  answer  to  be  sent,  or  the  instructions  to  be 
given, —  it  was  one  of  his  extraordinary  characteristics  that 
before  he  had  finished  reading  a  letter  or  even  a  telegram,  the 
answer  shaped  itself  in  his  mind,  and  it  was  invariably  sent 
as  first  conceived;  no  one  ever  caught  him  sitting  with  a 
letter  or  a  telegram  in  his  hand  wondering  what  reply  he 
should  make.  To  a  business  proposition,  whether  made  in 
conference  or  on  the  street,  he  always  gave  a  definite  answer 
on  the  spot,  unless,  as  often  happened,  it  suited  his  purpose 
to  procrastinate.  Whatever  his  course  of  action,  his  decision 
was  immediate  and  irrevocable.  "No  man  can  afford  to 
change  his  mind,"  he  often  said;  "it 's  cheaper  in  the  end  to 
go  wrong  once  in  a  while  than  get  in  the  habit  of  thinking 
what 's  best  to  do."  All  who  did  business  with  him  had  a 
wholesome  respect  for  this  characteristic;  they  soon  learned 
to  make  him  no  proposition  they  were  not  ready  to  stand  by, 
for  he  never  gave  them  time  to  withdraw. 

"The  old  man  trades  so  quickly  it  takes  one's  breath 
away,"  Range  Salter  remarked  one  day  after  a  trying  five 
minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  he  found  he  had  involved  the 
Union  Company  in  an  agreement  highly  advantageous  to 
Ganton  &  Co. 

[291] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

He  was  quite  as  ready  and  willing  to  do  business  in  the 
street  as  in  his  office;  it  mattered  not.  "The  time  to  do 
business  is  all  the  time,  that 's  my  motto,"  he  said  whenever 
any  one  suggested  taking  a  matter  up  at  a  more  convenient 
opportunity.  If  a  man  asked  for  an  appointment  he  invari 
ably  inquired  what  was  wanted,  and  nine  times  out  of  ten 
disposed  of  the  matter  on  the  spot.  He  was  a  good  waiter 
when  he  wanted  to  wait ;  no  one  could  prolong  negotiations 
more  exasperatingly  when  he  needed  time  to  secure  some 
advantage. 

"  He  's  the  slowest  man  to  come  to  a  decision  I  ever  met," 
a  New  Yorker  once  remarked. 

"  Then  you'd  better  look  out,  for  the  chances  are  he  is 
moving  like  a  streak  of  greased  lightning  behind  your  back," 
his  friend  answered. 

During  the  days  he  was  feeling  so  much  better  and  tak 
ing  renewed  interest  in  business,  he  found  on  his  desk  one 
morning  a  cable  in  cipher  from  John.  He  noticed  it  was 
sent  from  London,  instead  of  Liverpool.  When  translated 
it  read: 

"  Italian  government  about  to  make  large  contracts  for 
meats  and  canned  goods;  contract  may  be  secured  through 
influence  of  South- Atlantic  line;  prompt  action  necessary." 

Without  pausing  to  reread  the  message,  he  called  for 
Browning,  gave  the  necessary  orders  to  get  the  Rome 
and  Naples  representatives  at  work,  dictated  a  telegram  to 
Sanford  in  New  York,  then,  showing  Browning  the  cable, 
remarked : 

"The  young  fellow  seems  to  be  able  to  sit  up  and  take 
notice;  I  wonder  where  he  got  that  tip." 

[292] 


John  Ganton 's  Remorse 

"  MacMasters  says  he  has  a  long  head." 

"  We  may  make  something  of  him  yet,  if  he  '11  get  some 
of  his  fool  notions  out  of  his  noddle." 

Browning  said  nothing,  as  he  had  his  own  opinion  con 
cerning  the  young  man.  The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  continued: 

"The  trouble  nowadays,  Browning,  is  boys  are  educated 
too  much.  Colleges  are  all  right  enough  in  the  old  country, 
where  men  don't  have  to  work,  but  they  don't  go  in  America. 
A  new  country  's  got  to  have  brain  and  muscle,  and  boys 
must  work,  and  work  young,  or  they  will  get  left  at  the  post. 
What  good  would  a  college  have  been  in  California  in  '49  or 
in  Chicago  fifty  years  ago  ?  Do  they  need  a  college  in  the 
Klondike  ?  I  guess  not ;  they  need  men  and  women,  not  a 
lot  of  sickly  students.  There  is  a  time  for  all  things,  even 
learning,  but  America  is  not  ripe  for  too  much  learning. 
Another  generation  or  so,  and  this  country  will  go  in  for 
colleges  and  universities  and  learning  to  beat  the  band; 
just  now  business  is  the  thing.  Ganton  &  Co.  is  bigger 
than  any  college, —  the  fellows  we  graduate  amount  to 
something." 

In  his  way  John  Ganton  had  shrewd  notions  concerning 
the  directions  in  which  the  energies  of  a  country  ought  to 
be  applied;  he  had  no  particular  antipathy  to  higher  educa 
tion  in  itself,  but  he  thought  the  time  devoted  to  it  in  America 
mostly  wasted;  he  could  not  see  that  it  helped  in  business, 
and  in  the  case  of  his  own  son  he  was  quite  sure  university 
life  had  destroyed  what  little  aptitude  for  practical  affairs 
the  boy  had  ever  had. 

The  contracts  with  the  Italian  government  were  closed, 
largely  through  the  friendly  though  secret  intervention  of 

[293] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

the  South- Atlantic  Company,  which,  in  turn,  profited  from 
exceedingly  favorable  transportation  agreements.  The  com 
petitors  of  Ganton  &  Co.  put  in  lower  bids,  but  their  offers 
were  rejected  for  one  reason  or  another.  "  What 's  the  use 
of  bidding!"  exclaimed  the  president  of  the  International 
Company,  angrily;  "the  old  man  has  a  cinch  on  this  foreign 
business.  I  believe  he  owns  every  court  in  Europe." 

About  half-past  five  one  afternoon,  when  most  of  the 
office  force  had  gone  for  the  day,  John  Ganton  was  still  at  his 
desk,  poring  over  papers  and  reports  and  making  figures  on 
a  piece  of  blank  paper  with  a  short,  stubby  pencil.  Though 
not  much  of  a  writer,  he  was  exceedingly  quick  at  figures, 
and  could  run  up  long  columns  at  a  glance,  and  carry  results 
in  his  head  so  long  as  he  had  any  use  for  them.  In  trans 
actions  of  great  magnitude  and  complexity  he  therefore 
seldom  had  to  refer  to  memoranda,  and  always  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about,  a  trait  which  gave  him  a  decided 
advantage  over  most  men  with  whom  he  had  dealings,  as 
they  made  mistakes  where  he  did  not.  In  addition,  he  not 
only  knew  all  about  the  business  of  Ganton  &  Co.,  but  all 
about  the  business  of  each  of  the  principal  competitors  of 
Ganton  &  Co. 

At  the  moment  he  was  engaged  in  comparing  the  profits 
of  the  International,  the  Union,  and  Borlan  Bros. ;  the  profits 
of  Ganton  &  Co.  should  exceed  the  earnings  of  the  other 
three  combined,  but  under  the  energetic  management  of 
Allan  Borlan  the  business  of  Borlan  Bros,  had  so  increased 
that  for  the  first  time  the  footings  did  not  result  so  favorably 
to  Ganton  &  Co. ;  as  nearly  as  he  could  get  at  the  facts  the 
profits  of  the  three  companies  now  just  about  equalled  his 

[294] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

own.  A  frown  gathered  over  his  face,  and  his  tightly  closed 
lips  worked  in  and  out  mechanically  as  he  ran  the  stubby 
pencil  over  the  figures  before  him;  so  absorbed  was  he  that 
he  did  not  look  up  when  some  one  entered  his  private  office, 
but  simply  asked  sharply: 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"I  called  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of  business,"  was  the 
reply,  in  a  voice  that  was  familiar  and  yet  did  not  belong  to 
the  office.  Swinging  about,  he  was  surprised  to  see  George 
Borlan. 

"  Why,  Borlan,  I  thought  it  was  Browning  or  some  of  the 
boys  in  the  office;  sit  down, — sit  down,"  he  repeated  cordially; 
as  Borlan  took  a  chair  and  dropped  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside 
him,  John  Ganton  continued  in  a  tone  which  betrayed  his 
anxiety,  and  at  the  same  time  no  little  embarrassment,  "  How 
is  Allan  getting  on  ?  " 

George  Borlan  looked  at  the  old  man  a  moment  before 
replying,  as  if  on  the  point  of  saying  something  that  might 
not  be  pleasant,  but  if  he  had  such  a  thought  he  repressed  it. 

"  No  better,  Mr.  Ganton.  The  doctors  say  there  is  only 
one  chance,  and  that  is  an  operation.  By  lifting  a  piece  of 
the  skull  they  may  relieve  the  pressure  on  the  brain,  but  they 
are  not  sure,  they  are  not  sure  of  anything.  He  may  die, 
but  we  are  going  to  take  the  chance." 

George  Borlan  could  not  hide  his  emotion,  his  voice 
trembled  and  he  rose  from  his  chair,  dug  his  hands  into 
his  pockets,  and  strode  over  to  the  window,  where  he  re 
mained  several  minutes  apparently  looking  out  on  the 
street  below. 

John  Ganton  was  shuffling  the  papers  on  his  desk  ner 
vously, —  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

[295] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"It's  too  bad,  Borlan,"  he  murmured,  "it's  too  bad. 
Maybe  he  '11  come  out  all  right  yet,  maybe  — 

"I  did  not  come  to  talk  about  that,"  George  Borlan  inter 
rupted  rather  sharply  as  he  turned  from  the  window  to  his 
seat;  "though  it  is  Allan's  condition  which  in  a  way  is  the 
occasion  of  my  being  here."  He  paused  a  second  and  John 
Ganton  waited.  "  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  our  business. 
I  am  tired  and  sick  of  it,  and  would  have  retired  long  ago  if 
Allan  had  not  been  coming  on.  Now  that  he  is  no  longer 
able  to  take  any  part  in  the  management  of  the 
business  I  want  to  dispose  of  it.  I  want  to  get  rid 
of  it,  and  I  'm  willing  to  sell  the  business  and  good 
will  for  less  than  it  is  worth.  You  once  said  that  if  we 
ever  cared  to  sell  out  to  let  you  know.  There  is  a  statement 
showing  our  investment  here  and  in  Kansas  City,  the  busi 
ness  and  our  profits  for  the  last  five  years.  There  is  our 
balance-sheet.  We  are  prepared  to  guarantee  our  inventories 
and  all  bills  and  accounts  receivable.  Does  the  matter  inter 
est  you,  Mr.  Ganton  ?  " 

In  business  George  Borlan  was  always  quick,  sharp,  and 
to  the  point;  he  would  have  made  a  great  trader  except  that 
he  did  not  care  a  great  deal  about  making  money.  "He  is 
too  fond  of  books  to  make  a  first-class  business  man,"  his 
associates  often  said;  but  when  he  put  his  mind  on  business 
be  could  accomplish  almost  as  much  in  a  given  time  as  John 
Ganton  himself. 

The  old  man  glanced  at  the  two  sheets  handed  him,  and 
at  the  figures  on  his  desk  as  if  to  verify  the  footings;  he 
pushed  all  the  papers  to  one  side  indifferently. 

"  What  do  you  want  for  your  business,  Borlan  ? "  he  asked 
as  quietly  as  if  he  had  been  purchasing  a  pair  of  horses. 

[296] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

"  Five  million  dollars  in  cash  or  securities.  It  does  n't 
matter  which." 

"  I  will  give  you  six  millions.  Make  out  your  papers 
to-morrow,  with  formal  deeds  and  transfers  to  follow  within 
thirty  days." 

George  Borlan  looked  at  the  old  man  in  blank  astonish 
ment.  He  thought  he  had  not  heard  aright. 

"  I  said  five  millions,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"  And  I  said  six." 

"But  —  " 

"  I  know  what  your  business  is  worth,  Borlan,  better  'n 
you  do  yourself.  There  are  the  figures.  I  was  just  looking 
them  over  when  you  came  in.  I  know  what  you  made  last 
year,  and  I  know  what  you  are  doing  this  year." 

"All  that  was  due  to  Allan." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  ? "  the  old  man  shouted 
irritably.  "  Don't  you  suppose  I  keep  track  of  what 's  going 
on  at  the  Yards  ?  Take  that  extra  million  and  spend  every 
cent  of  it  in  trying  to  get  your  brother  cured." 

There  was  a  strange  ring  to  John  Ganton's  voice  as  he 
uttered  the  last  words.  Could  it  be  he  looked  upon  this  extra 
payment  as  a  sort  of  atonement  for  any  part  he  may  have 
had  in  the  beginning  of  the  strike  ?  Could  it  be  he  felt  in 
any  wise  responsible  for  the  rioting  and  disorder  that  led  up 
to  the  assault  ?  These  thoughts  flashed  through  Borlan's 
mind;  he  had  his  own  convictions,  but  he  had  not  thought  it 
possible  the  coarse  fibre  of  John  Ganton  responded  to  any 
such  reflections  and  emotions.  Yet  there  was  something  in 
the  tone  of  the  old  man  which  made  Borlan  feel  that  beneath 
the  uncouth  exterior  there  might  be  after  all  a  heart  cast  in 
a  better  mould. 

[297] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

After  his  caller  had  left  the  office,  John  Ganton  did  not 
again  look  at  the  paper  on  his  desk;  he  sat  for  some  time 
in  his  big  chair  apparently  lost  in  thought,  and  he  was  not 
thinking  of  the  purchase  of  the  business  of  Borlan  Bros.,  or 
of  the  extra  million  of  dollars  he  had  given  for  it.  That 
transaction  was  closed  and  past;  Browning  would  attend 
to  the  details  and  pay  the  money  as  soon  as  the  papers  could 
be  executed.  The  magnitude  of  a  transaction  never  affected 
him,  in  fact,  he  often  spent  more  time  on  a  small  deal  than  on 
a  large;  he  would  haggle  with  a  waiter  over  the  amount  of 
his  bill,  or  wait  while  a  newsboy  ran  across  the  street  to  get 
four  pennies  in  change  for  his  nickel ;  but  a  purchase  involv 
ing  millions  never  bothered  him  a  moment. 

No ;  he  was  not  thinking  of  business  as  he  sat  there  alone. 
The  big  office  was  now  deserted  by  all  save  the  janitor's 
assistants,  who  were  emptying  the  contents  of  the  waste- 
paper  baskets  into  large  sacks.  He  was  thinking  of  the  young 
man  who  only  a  few  wreeks  before  had  entered  that  very 
office  and  pleaded  with  him  to  stand  firm  in  the  impending 
strike,  who  alone  had  fought  the  strikers  for  two  weeks,  who 
had  denounced  the  leaders  to  their  faces,  who  had  done 
more  than  any  one  else  to  expose  the  corruption  and  dis 
honesty  of  those  leaders,  and  who  had  fallen  victim  to  the 
vengeance  of  the  men  he  so  openly  and  fearlessly  denounced ; 
those  were  the  thoughts  which  haunted  John  Ganton,  and  for 
the  first  time  since  he  had  taken  the  mixture  fixed  up  by 
Ruggles,  his  face  assumed  a  sallower  hue,  and  he  felt  a  knife- 
like  pain  shoot  through  his  stomach.  He  had  been  feeling 
so  well,  comparatively  speaking,  that  the  pain  startled  him  as 
a  vivid  reminder  of  his  former  sufferings.  When  he  arose 
to  go  he  said  to  himself,  "I  must  telephone  Doc  for  another 

[298] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

bottle  of  that  mixture,  and  ask  him  to  make  it  a  leetle 
stronger.' 

The  purchase  of  Borlan  Bros,  by  Ganton  &  Co.  made 
a  sensation  on  the  Street  and  at  the  Yards;  it  placed  the 
International  and  the  Union  at  a  still  greater  disadvantage 
in  competition  with  the  big  company. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  us  you  wanted  to  sell  out,  and  give 
us  a  chance  to  buy  ?  "  Range  Salter  asked  in  a  disappointed 
tone  when  he  met  George  Borlan. 

"  You  would  have  wanted  a  week  to  consider  the  matter, 
and  a  month  to  go  over  the  inventories  and  accounts;  I 
closed  with  the  old  man  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes." 

"I  '11  wager  a  penny  you  had  to  sell  at  his  price,"  Range 
Salter  retorted. 

'You  are  right;  I  did  accept  the  price  he  fixed." 

"I  thought  so.  When  it  comes  to  driving  a  bargain 
Ganton  's  a  tough  customer;  you  might  have  done  better 
if  you  had  taken  a  little  more  time  and  dealt  with  us." 

"I  hardly  think  so.  We  are  entirely  satisfied  with  the 
deal." 

As  Borlan  walked  away  Range  Salter  muttered  to  him 
self: 

"  I  '11  bet  the  old  man  took  advantage  of  the  condition  of 
Allan  Borlan  and  got  the  business  for  nothing, —  '  t  was  too 
good  a  chance  to  lose." 

There  were  rumors  that  all  the  big  companies  were  about 
to  get  together  in  one  combination,  that  competition  would 
be  stifled,  and  the  prices  of  meat  and  all  other  products  of  the 
Yards  materially  advanced.  Such  a  consolidation  had  been 
frequently  suggested.  Clever  promoters  from  New  York 

[299] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

had  called  on  John  Ganton  a  number  of  times  to  discuss  the 
matter,  but  he  received  them  with  scant  courtesy,  and 
listened  impatiently  to  what  they  had  to  say.  The  presi 
dent  of  the  bank  in  which  he  was  the  largest  stockholder 
had  tried  several  times  to  persuade  him  a  big  combination 
would  be  to  his  advantage,  but  he  responded  curtly :  "  I  can't 
see  it  that  way.  We  are  getting  all  the  business  we  want, 
and  when  we  want  more,  we  '11  reach  out  for  it." 

Combinations  and  consolidations  were  in  the  air,  and  his 
associates  could  not  understand  his  opposition  to  the  tendency 
of  the  hour,  quick  as  he  was  to  approve  pools,  price  agree 
ments,  trade  arrangements,  and  ever}7  device  known  which 
would  have  the  effect  of  regulating  supply  and  keeping  up 
prices.  But  it  was  charged  more  or  less  openly  that  the 
salesmen  and  managers  of  Ganton  &  Co.  did  not  always 
faithfully  observe  these  agreements,  that  they  were  kept 
when  the  old  man  wanted  them  kept,  and  broken  when  his 
attention  was  conveniently  bestowed  elsewhere;  Ganton  & 
Co.  had  the  reputation  of  never  losing  any  business  by 
keeping  faith  with  a  competitor 

He  could  see  no  reason  why  he  should  merge  his  individu 
ality  in  a  large  combination,  even  though  he  were  placed  at 
the  head.  That  meant  nothing  to  him,  as  he  was  the  head 
of  the  packing  industry  anyway;  no  one  disputed  his  su 
premacy.  If  a  competitor  wanted  to  sell  out  at  a  price,  that 
was  another  matter,  he  would  buy;  but  as  for  taking  in  a 
lot  of  stockholders  and  directors  and  officers  for  whom  he 
had  no  use,  the  suggestion  did  not  appeal  to  him ;  he  was  too 
fond  of  running  his  own  business  to  suit  himself  to  tolerate 
the  intervention  of  outsiders.  The  corporate  organization  of 
Ganton  &  Co.  was  hardly  more  than  nominal,  just  sufficient 

[300] 


John  Ganton's  Remorse 

to  comply  with  the  law ;  with  the  exception  of  Browning  and 
Will,  the  directors  were  clerks  in  the  office,  and  the  board 
met  only  to  pass  such  formal  resolutions  as  were  necessary 
to  carry  out  John  Ganton's  personal  wishes. 

"  When  I  get  so  old  I  can  't  run  this  business  myself 
I  '11  get  out  and  make  room  for  others,  but  not  before,"  the 
old  man  said  to  the  assistant  of  a  great  New  York  banker, 
who  was  vainly  trying  to  persuade  him  that  a  consolidation 
would  take  part  of  the  load  off  his  shoulders. 

'  Trusts  are  all  right  enough  down  East,  where  you  fellows 
get  down  at  ten  in  the  morning  and  quit  at  one  on  the  days 
you  're  not  playing  golf.  It  takes  a  lot  of  you  to  do  the  work 
of  one  man,  and  the  bigger  the  combination  the  more  holidays 
you  have.  Things  are  different  out  here,  where  we  're  not 
looking  for  holidays;  I  don't  need  no  rest;  and  when  I  get 
ready  to  sell  out  I  '11  let  you  know." 

It  was  seldom  he  expressed  himself  at  such  length,  but 
on  this  occasion  his  caller  represented  a  house  of  so  much 
importance  in  the  financial  world,  that  he  could  not  very  well 
avoid  the  interview;  besides,  it  flattered  the  old  man  to  think 
the  great  men  of  Wall  Street  should  send  their  trusted  lieu 
tenants  to  Chicago  to  see  if  it  were  not  possible  to  organize  a 
gigantic  packing  corporation,  with  him  at  the  head. 

A  few  weeks  later  two  specialists  came  on  from  New  York 
to  perform  the  operation  on  Allan  Borlan.  The  case  was 
baffling  because  there  was  no  outward  sign  of  the  injury,  yet  it 
was  of  vital  importance  to  know  precisely  where  to  open  the 
skull.  At  length,  after  days  of  observations  and  tests,  the 
great  man  to  whom  was  intrusted  the  responsibility  of  saying 
where  and  when  to  operate  placed  his  finger  upon  a  certain 

[301] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

spot  a  little  above  and  behind  the  ear,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
conviction : 

"There,  the  seat  of  the  trouble  is  there,  within  a  space 
easily  covered  by  a  half-dollar." 

He  proved  to  be  right,  for  when  they  trepanned  the  skull 
at  that  point  and  removed  the  pressure  a  marvellous  change 
occurred 

Even  while  partially  under  the  influence  of  the  anaesthetic 
the  features  of  the  sick  man  lost  the  expression  of  vacuity  and 
indifference;  they  became  set  and  firm.  The  lines  about 
the  mouth  hardened,  the  lips  moved,  and  as  the  effects  of 
the  ether  disappeared,  Allan  Borlan  uttered  in  the  tone  of  a 
man  threatened  by  some  great  danger,  the  one  word 
"Ballard!" 

"He  saw  the  man  who  struck  him,"  the  great  specialist 
remarked  in  a  low  voice,  and  those  about  the  table  listened 
intently,  but  Borlan's  eyes  closed,  and  he  relapsed  into  uncon 
sciousness. 

Days  passed  before  he  was  strong  enough  to  give  an 
account  of  the  events  of  the  night  he  was  assaulted,  but  he 
slowly  recovered  his  strength  and  all  his  faculties. 

He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  assailant  as  the  man 
darted  out  from  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  stables.  It  was 
Ballard.  But  when  they  sought  to  arrest  him  he  had  disap 
peared.  Months  afterwards  it  was  reported  he  had  been 
killed  in  a  brawl  somewhere  in  the  great  Northwest,  where 
men  so  often  lose  their  lives  in  trying  to  lose  themselves. 


[302] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FATHER  AND  SON 

BEYOND  question  John  Ganton  was  a  sick  man.  In 
two  weeks  he  had  grown  so  much  worse,  had  become  so 
yellow  and  haggard,  that  his  more  intimate  associates 
ceased  to  comment  on  his  appearance  one  way  or  the  other. 
That  was  a  bad  sign;  he  had  gone  through  the  three  stages 
of  human  sympathy :  the  first,  when  those  about  him  noticed 
signs  of  ill-health  and  inquired  sympathetically  how  he  felt; 
the  second,  when  they  endeavored  to  cheer  him  up  and  dis 
guise  the  progress  of  the  disease  by  telling  him  how  much 
better  he  was  looking;  and  the  third,  when  his  appearance  was 
such  that  idle  words  were  useless,  and  even  Browning  re 
mained  silent. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  in  spite  of  the  dull  ache  which  never 
left  his  side  and  of  the  excruciating  pains  which  now  and 
then  doubled  him  up  in  agony,  in  spite  of  the  distress  which 
nearly  all  food  gave  him,  in  spite  of  unmistakable  outward 
and  inward  signs  of  grave  trouble  of  some  kind,  with  indom 
itable  will  John  Ganton  persuaded  himself  that  it  was  only 
some  trouble  with  stomach  and  liver,  which  would  right 
itself  in  time.  In  his  long  and  hard  life  he  had  had  too  many 
attacks  of  biliousness  and  of  indigestion,  due  to  bolting  poor 
food  half  cooked,  to  worry  over  similar  symptoms  now. 
Heroic  doses  of  castor  oil  and  blue-pills  had  always  brought 
him  around,  and  he  would  come  out  all  right  now,  he  kept 
saying  to  himself. 

[303] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

He  had  tried  another  bottle  of  Ruggles's  mixture,  more 
bitter  and  worse  smelling,  if  anything,  than  the  first.  He 
had  taken  double  doses,  and  again  for  a  few  days  he  felt 
better.  The  feeling  of  relief  confirmed  him  in  the  conviction 
it  was  his  liver  which  needed  "  stirring  up,"  but  this  time  the 
improvement  did  not  last.  The  pains  came  back  sharper 
than  ever,  he  lost  flesh,  his  clothes  hung  loosely  on  his  big 
frame.,  his  cheeks  were  thin  and  sallow,  his  gray  eyes,  so  keen 
and  piercing,  became  dull  and  leaden.  ^Yhen  by  himself 
he  sat  and  stared  at  his  hands,  first  at  one  and  then  at  the 
other.  He  could  not  understand  why  they  should  be  so  thin 
and  so  bad  in  color. 

He  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  walking  a  great  deal, 
considering  a  carriage  effeminate ;  but  now  he  was  driven  to 
and  from  his  office.  Even  when  he  attended  a  directors' 
meeting  or  a  conference  more  than  a  block  or  two  away,  he 
called  a  cab. 

No  one  dared  talk  with  him  about  his  condition.  At 
home  he  was  so  morose  and  silent  that  if  his  wife  merely 
asked  him  how  he  felt  he  answered  so  irritably  that  she  soon 
ceased  to  say  a  word.  But  her  eyes,  half  filled  with  tears, 
followed  him  as  he  moved  slowly  and  painfully  about  the 
house;  she  knew  he  was  sick,  though  she  did  not  realize  how 
sick  he  was  so  clearly  as  those  who  saw  him  less  often.  Will's 
mind  was  so  preoccupied  with  his  own  affairs  and  with  the 
pending  interview,  —  an  interview  he  had  postponed  from 
week  to  week,  hoping  a  favorable  opportunity  would  present 
itself, —  that  he  had  not  noticed  his  father's  condition  par 
ticularly.  He  knew  his  father  was  not  well,  but  supposed, 
of  course,  he  would  get  better. 

Browning,  more  clearly  than  any  one,  appreciated  the 
[304] 


Father  and  Son 

serious  nature  of  the  ailment.  He  knew  that  there  was 
something  wrong;  something  that  no  ordinary  remedies 
could  reach.  He  could  see  that  the  trouble  was  progressing 
rapidly,  and  that  unless  checked  the  result  would  certainly 
be  fatal.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  talk  with  his  own  family 
physician,  a  good,  level-headed  practitioner  of  the  old  school, 
but  not  a  brilliant  man.  Browning  described  every  symptom 
he  could  recall,  and  had  the  doctor  drop  in  the  office  one  day 
so  he  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  old  man  without  the  latter 
suspecting  the  presence  of  a  physician. 

"It  is  the  liver,"  the  doctor  said  emphatically,  as 
John  Ganton  passed  slowly  by  Browning's  desk  to  his 
private  office.  "Nothing  but  an  examination  can  disclose 
just  what  the  trouble  is.  It  may  be  only  a  bad  case  of 
jaundice  with  acute  indigestion;  but  he  ought  to  consult  a 
physician." 

Browning  felt  relieved  to  hear  it  might  be  only  jaundice 
after  all, —  as  Ruggles  out  at  the  Yards  asserted, —  but  he 
asked : 

"  If  it 's  jaundice  why  does  n't  he  get  better  ?  He  has 
taken  no  end  of  medicines  for  his  liver." 

"Too  many,  perhaps.  It  takes  time  to  cure  jaundice. 
We  have  to  get  at  the  seat  of  the  trouble,  and  ordinary  liver 
pills  may  do  more  harm  than  good." 

"  Then  you  don't  consider  his  condition  alarming,  doctor?" 
Browning  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Not  necessarily.  At  the  same  time  if  I  had  his  color  I 
should  lose  no  time  in  doing  something  for  myself." 

Browning  ventured  to  tell  the  sick  man  what  he  had 
done  and  what  the  doctor  had  said.  He  listened  in  silence, 
and  when  Browning  had  concluded,  instead  of  the  outburst 

[305] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

of  anger  which  his  faithful  manager  more  than  half  expected, 
simply  remarked, 

"Perhaps  he's  right,  Browning;  that's  just  what  Doc 
Ruggles  says;  it's  my  liver  and  stomick." 

"But  won  't  you  go  and  see  a  physician,  Mr.  Ganton  ? " 
Browning  asked  earnestly. 

"  What 's  the  use,  Browning,  what 's  the  use  ?  Your 
man  's  as  good  as  any,  and  he  says  it 's  my  liver  and  stomick, 
and  that 's  what  Doc  Ruggles  says.  They  don't  any  of 
them  know  much  of  anything." 

The  old  man,  as  he  sat  there  leaning  forward  in  his  big 
chair,  his  left  hand  resting  upon  his  stomach  as  if  to  quiet 
the  pain  which  hardly  ever  left  him  now,  looked  so  thin  and 
yellow  and  sick  that  Browning  felt  the  tears  spring  to  his 
eyes.  He  was  as  attached  to  John  Ganton  as  a  faithful  dog 
to  his  harsh  but  not  unkind  master.  Moved  by  the  sym 
pathy  he  felt,  he  ventured  to  say: 

"  Mr.  Ganton,  you  are  a  sick  man,  sicker  than  you  realize. 
For  weeks  you  have  been  getting  worse  and  worse.  I  have 
watched  you,  and  everybody  in  the  office  has  seen  the  change. 
Unless  you  do  something  for  yourself  it  will  not  be  long 
before  you  won't  be  able  to  come  down  at  all,  and  then  what 
would  we  all  do  ?  What  would  become  of  the  business  ?  " 

The  words  were  out  before  Browning  paused  to  think. 
At  the  suggestion  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  come  down 
to  the  office,  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  direct  the  affairs 
of  Ganton  &  Co.  as  he  had  always  done,  the  old  man  straight 
ened  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  Browning  so  strangely 
that  the  latter  was  confused,  and  stammered: 

"  I  do  not  mean,  Mr.  Ganton  that  —  that  — 

"I  know  what  you  mean,  Browning,"  the  old  man  said 
[306] 


Father  and  Son 

slowly;  "I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  guess  you  're  right. 
If  this  pain  don't  let  up  soon  it  will  get  the  better  of  me,  sure. 
It  is  hard  work  to  move  about  as  it  is.  You  say  the  boys  in 
the  office  notice  it,  Browning  ?  " 

"They  cannot  help  seeing  you  are  not  well.  Of  course 
they  don't  — 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  interrupted  hurriedly.  "If  I 
don't  feel  better  in  a  day  or  two  I  will  go  and  see  your  doctor. 
He  's  as  good  as  any,  I  guess.  He  says  it 's  my  liver  and 
stomick,  and  that 's  just  what  Doc  Ruggles  says." 

It  was  pathetic,  the  old  man's  distrust  of  physicians 
and  his  faith  in  the  horse  doctor  at  the  Yards;  but  all  his 
life  he  had  looked  upon  doctors  as  fit  only  for  the  imaginary 
complaints  of  old  women.  He  did  not  believe  in  their 
nostrums;  as  for  surgery,  he  often  said  he  would  never  let 
them  "stick  him  like  a  pig,"  carrying  his  prejudice  so  far 
that  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  get  him  to  contribute  toward 
the  erection  or  maintenance  of  any  hospital,  though  in  his 
own  way  he  was  liberal  in  his  contributions  to  public  institu 
tions.  This  prejudice  had  its  origin  in  the  fact  that  his 
mother  had  died  after  an  operation  when  he  was  a  child, 
and  he  had  always  heard  the  neighbors  say  that  the  doctors 
had  killed  her.  Just  what  ailed  her,  and  just  what  the 
operation  was,  he  never  understood,  only  that  she  had  gone 
to  the  hospital  and  after  a  few  weeks  had  died.  The  mystery 
surrounding  it  all  made  so  great  an  impression  on  his  childish 
mind  that  all  his  life  long  he  never  passed  a  hospital  without 
involuntarily  looking  at  the  great  walls,  the  big  doors,  the 
driveway  for  the  ambulances  and  undertakers'  wagons,  and 
wondering  whether  any  one  was  being  cut  up  and  killed 
inside.  Considering  that  his  own  daily  life  was  spent 

[307] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

amidst  blood  and  slaughter,  and  remembering  his  utter 
ignorance  of  surgery  and  the  wonders  it  accomplishes, 
these  notions  were  not  so  very  queer. 

After  Browning  left  him  he  tried  to  work,  to  look  over  the 
papers  on  his  desk;  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the 
thought  that  it  might  be  true  that  in  a  few  weeks  or  months 
he  would  not  be  sitting  at  that  desk,  but  would  be  in  his  bed 
a  sick  and  dying  man, —  pshaw !  how  absurd  for  him  to 
think  of  dying !  Why,  he  had  just  turned  sixty,  in  the  prime 
of  life,  and  was  perfectly  well  up  to  a  month  or  so  ago. 
When  did  the  trouble  begin  ?  he  asked  himself,  and  tried  to 
think.  Was  it  before  the  strike  or  after?  It  was  before, 
for  he  could  remember  several  times  during  the  spring  his 
stomach  had  troubled  him  a  little  after  eating,  but  that  was 
just  "  wind  on  the  stomick,"  he  said  to  himself,  that  did  n't 
amount  to  anything.  "  I  was  all  right  up  to  the  time  of  the 
strike,  and  I  've  been  getting  worse  since."  He  looked  at  his 
hands,  turning  them  over  slowly.  "How  thin  and  yellow 
they  are !  "  he  muttered,  "  and  they  ain't  stronger  'n  a  baby's.' 
His  thoughts  turned  to  the  great  business  he  had  built  up. 
What  would  become  of  that  if  anything  happened  to  him  ? 
Who  would  take  his  place  ?  The  possibility  of  the  great 
organization  disintegrating  and  falling  prey  to  the  rapacity 
of  his  competitors  embittered  him,  and  he  gritted  his  teeth 
together  in  the  determination  to  live  and  "fool  them  all 
yet."  But  those  pains, —  how  they  did  come  and  go!  He 
pressed  his  hand  upon  his  right  side  and  leaned  forward, 
beads  of  sweat  starting  out  upon  his  forehead.  Would  they 
never  cease?  would  nothing  reach  them?  Yes;  he  must 
see  a  doctor,  and  that,  too,  right  soon  if  he  did  not  get  better. 
There  was  always  the  hope  of  being  better  the  next  day. 

[308] 


Father  and  Son 

He  had  no  time  to  be  ill,  and  he  could  not  afford  to  die. 
The  thought  of  death  terrified  him, —  strangely  enough,  for 
he  \vas  no  coward,  and  had  faced  dangers  and  death  in  many 
forms  without  flinching.  Yet  to  think  of  dying  inch  by 
inch,  day  by  day,  to  see  health  and  strength  and  life  slipping 
away  from  week  to  week,  that  filled  him  with  fear  and  dread ; 
he  could  not  stand  it. 

He  fumbled  with  the  papers  before  him,  but  when,  an 
hour  later,  Browning  asked  him  concerning  certain  telegrams, 
he  replied  that  he  had  not  read  them. 

"There  is  a  letter  from  John,"  Browning  said. 

"  Is  there  ?  "  he  asked  listlessly.  "  I  will  come  to  it."  He 
picked  up  a  bunch  of  telegrams,  but  after  reading  two  or 
three,  he  dropped  them  and  shuffled  through  the  papers  for 
the  letter;  just  why  he  should  drop  the  more  important 
telegrams  to  read  the  letter  he  could  not  say,  but  it  was 
seldom  the  office  received  any  letter  from  John  Ganton,  and 
when  he  did  write  it  was  always  curtly  and  to  the  point 
regarding  some  matter  of  importance;  his  father  had  learned 
to  rely  upon  these  brief,  business-like  letters  for  accurate 
information  concerning  much  of  their  foreign  business. 
When  found  at  last  the  letter  in  question  simply  said: 

"  I  would  suggest  a  change  in  Vienna,  as  the  office  there 
has  lost  several  important  contracts  through  lack  of  diligence. 
Schiffers  at  Berlin  would  do  better  at  Vienna;  he  is  an 
Austrian  by  birth  and  has  a  valuable  acquaintance.  To 
secure  the  Austrian  business  a  representative  should  be  kept 
at  Buda-Pesth,  a  man  who  can  entertain  and  make  friends." 

That  was  all;  the  letters  were  invariably  addressed  to 
Ganton  &  Co.,  and  were  formally  signed.  The  young  man 

[309] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

had  not  written  a  personal  letter  to  his  father  since  he  landed 
on  the  other  side. 

Something  like  a  smile  stole  over  the  old  man's  features  as 
he  read  the  short  letter.  He  had  known  for  some  time  the 
Vienna  representative  was  inefficient,  but  he  had  not  been 
able  to  place  his  hand  on  just  the  man  for  the  place.  He 
had  never  thought  of  Schiffers, —  the  very  man,  educated, 
polished,  tactful,  secretive.  He  had  done  well  at  Berlin, 
but  the  Hamburg  office  could  take  care  of  Berlin  for  a  time, 
and  Schiffers  could  go  to  Vienna.  The  idea  of  a  man  at  Buda- 
Pesth  had  never  occurred  to  him,  but  it  was  just  the  scheme, 
considering  the  jealousy  which  existed  between  the  two 
capitals.  It  required  less  than  five  minutes  to  give  Brown 
ing  instructions  to  make  the  changes. 

"  John  seems  to  have  a  pretty  clear  head  on  his  shoulders," 
the  latter  remarked. 

"  He  keeps  his  eyes  and  ears  open,  that 's  sure,"  John 
Ganton  replied;  "for  a  young  fellow  who  made  so  poor  a 
start  he  's  doing  very  well." 

When  Browning  had  gone,  the  old  man  found  himself  at 
last  comparing  his  two  sons.  As  he  sat  there  thinking,  the 
reports  of  Will's  engagement  to  May  Keating  occurred  to 
him,  and  an  ugly  frown  gathered  on  his  forehead.  He  had 
said  nothing,  he  was  waiting  for  Will  to  speak, —  but  if  the 
boy  should  marry  that  girl!  He  clenched  his  bony  fist, 
and  a  vindictive  look  came  into  his  gray  eyes;  on  that  point 
he  was  relentless. 

On  Sunday  morning  John  Ganton,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  so  far  as  he  could  remember,  remained  in  bed.  When 
he  tried  to  get  up  about  seven  o'clock  he  felt  so  sick  at  his 

[310] 


Father  and  Son 

stomach  he  was  obliged  to  lie  down  again  immediately. 
No  one  knew  he  felt  so  sick,  for  he  made  no  complaint,  and 
did  not  so  much  as  groan  as  he  lay  flat  on  his  back  in  the 
effort  to  conquer  the  nausea.  His  wife,  an  early  riser  like 
himself,  was  already  below  stairs.  He  was  alone;  ashamed 
of  his  weakness,  he  once  more  tried  to  sit  up,  for  a  moment 
sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed  bent  forward  with  his  elbows  on 
his  knees.  The  effort  was  unavailing,  the  feeling  of  nausea 
overcame  him. 

The  whiteness  of  the  pillow  made  his  face  look  yellower 
and  more  haggard  than  ever.  Where  his  night-dress  was 
unbuttoned  at  the  throat  it  could  be  seen  that  beneath  the 
coarse  sandy  hair  covering  his  chest,  the  skin  was  of  the 
same  unhealthy  hue.  The  morning  was  cool,  so  he  pulled 
the  sheet  and  a  woollen  blanket  over  him,  and  lay  very  still,  to 
see  if  he  could  not  get  over  the  feeling  of  sickness,  repeating 
to  himself,  "I  '11  be  all  right  in  a  minute;  it 's  my  stomick." 
The  thought  came  to  him  if  he  took  his  medicine  he  might 
feel  better,  so  propping  himself  up  on  one  elbow  he  reached 
for  the  square  black  bottle  on  the  stand  near  the  head  of  the 
bed,  and  without  attempting  to  measure  a  dose,  took  a  big 
swallow.  "  Ugh ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  shut  his  lips  tightly  to 
gether  to  keep  the  mixture  down. 

"There,  I  guess  I  '11  feel  better  in  a  minute,"  he  muttered 
as  he  sank  down  on  his  back,  and  such  was  his  faith  in  the 
virtue  of  the  medicine  that  after  a  time  he  did  get  up  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  get  to  his  clothes  and  attempt  to 
dress.  But  again  he  was  forced  to  get  back  into  bed.  The 
sharp  pains  which  shot  through  his  right  side  were  like  a 
knife  at  his  vitals,  and  in  spite  of  himself  he  groaned  and 
pressed  both  hands  on  the  spot  that  hurt.  It  seemed  to  him 

[311] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

that  there  was  a  sort  of  lump,  a  hard  place  in  his  side,  and 
that  all  the  pains  and  soreness  centred  there.  "I  had  n't 
noticed  that  before,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  felt  around 
just  below  the  ribs.  Then  he  looked  very  carefully  but 
he  could  not  see  there  was  any  swelling.  He  looked  first 
at  one  side,  then  the  other;  yes,  the  right  side  did  look  a 
little  fuller,  but  perhaps  it  was  always  that  way.  He  passed 
his  hand  carefully  from  one  side  to  the  other.  The  soreness 
was  all  on  the  right  side,  and  beyond  any  doubt  there  was  a 
kind  of  a  lump  just  below  the  ribs, —  that  was  curious,  what 
could  it  be  ?  For  the  moment  he  forgot  his  nausea  and  pains 
and  sat  up  in  bed  to  get  a  better  look  at  his  side;  but  when 
he  sat  up  the  lump  disappeared  beneath  the  ribs,  until  he 
could  no  longer  feel  it.  Yet  when  he  lay  back,  it  was  plain 
to  the  touch,  and  now  that  he  knew  where  to  look,  he  could 
see  a  swelling  outside.  He  wondered  why  he  had  not  noticed 
it  before.  It  did  not  hurt  to  rub  the  spot,  so  the  lump  was 
not  very  sensitive.  He  knew  enough  about  lumps  and  swell 
ings  in  cattle  to  know  it  was  nothing  in  the  nature  of  an 
abscess  or  a  boil.  It  must  be  some  sort  of  a  tumor.  The 
thought  worried  him, —  a  tumor  has  to  be  removed,  or  it 
grows  and  grows  until  it  kills.  But  the  very  thought  of  an 
operation  made  him  shiver;  for  an  instant  he  saw  the  red 
streak  left  by  the  keen  knife  as  it  passed  rapidly  through  the 
skin  over  the  swelling,  and  with  his  mind's  eye  he  followed 
the  gush  of  blood  as  it  ran  down  the  side  of  his  body.  It  made 
his  flesh  creep,  for  there  was  nothing  he  dreaded  or  feared 
so  much  as  the  surgeon's  knife ;  he  hated  the  sight  of  trained 
nurses  in  their  uniforms  walking  the  streets  so  coolly  and 
indifferently, —  what  did  they  care  whether  their  patients 
lived  or  died  ? 

[312] 


Father  and  Son 

He  lay  there  so  long  that  his  wife  came  upstairs  to  see 
why  he  had  not  joined  her  at  breakfast.  When  he  heard  her 
footsteps  he  hastily  pulled  the  clothes  over  him.  He  did 
not  want  her  to  know  anything  about  the  lump  in  his  side,  and 
did  not  propose  that  any  one  should  know.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  a  strain  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  would  go  down 
in  a  few  days. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  John  ?  "  Mrs.  Ganton  asked  in  sur 
prise,  as  she  entered  the  room  and  found  him  still  in  bed. 
"Are  you  sick?" 

"No;  it 's  my  stomick.  I  feel  a  little  sick  to  my  stomick 
—  I  guess  I  '11  lie  still  for  a  while." 

Mrs.  Ganton  looked  at  him  earnestly.  She  could  see  the 
changes  in  his  appearance  during  the  past  few  weeks;  she 
had  never  seen  her  big,  burly  husband  sick  in  bed  before,  and 
it  frightened  her.  She  put  her  thin  hand  on  his  forehead  to 
learn  if  he  had  any  fever;  he  did  not  turn  away  impatiently, 
and  she  knew  from  that  how  sick  he  felt,  for  usually  he 
resented  all  evidences  of  sympathy. 

"  Can  you  eat  anything  ? "  she  inquired  softly. 

"No;  I  don't  want  anything,  Maria.  My  stomick 's 
all  upset.  I  '11  feel  better  in  a  little  while." 

"Let  me  get  you  a  little  soda  and  hot  water.  That 
settles  the  stomach  better  than  anything  I  know  of."  She 
waited  a  second,  half  expecting  him  to  reject  the  suggestion 
impatiently;  but  as  he  said  nothing,  she  trotted  downstairs 
to  get  a  cup  of  hot  water  with  a  pinch  of  baking  soda 

"Your  father  is  not  feeling  at  all  well  this  morning,"  she 
called  to  Will  as  she  passed  by  his  room. 

"He  isn't?  What's  the  matter?"  and  Will  bounded 
out  of  bed. 

[313] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  He  is  sick  at  his  stomach.  I  'm  going  after  some  soda 
and  water.  I  wish  you  would  go  in  and  see  him." 

Without  waiting  to  dress,  Will  hurried  into  his  father's 
room.  "What  is  it,  father,  what  is  the  matter?"  he  asked, 
in  a  tone  of  such  hearty  sympathy  that  the  old  man  was 
touched. 

"  It 's  nothing,  Will,  only  my  stomick  's  upset, —  that 's 
all;  I  '11  be  all  right  if  I  keep  on  my  back  a  while." 

Will  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  looked  at  his 
father.  He,  too,  could  see  the  frightful  ravages  disease  had 
made  in  the  strong  frame, —  they  were  only  too  plain  as  the 
old  man  lay  there  so  ill  and  so  weak.  He  took  one  of  the  big, 
sallow,  bony  hands  which  lay  upon  the  blanket  in  his  own 
and  pressed  it  affectionately;  but  nothing  more  was  said. 
When  his  mother  came  up  with  the  soda  and  water,  Will 
returned  to  his  own  room  and  dressed  slowly;  this  was  the 
morning  he  had  intended  speaking  about  his  engagement, 
but  how  could  he  do  it  so  long  as  his  father  was  so  much 
worse? 

Toward  noon  John  Ganton  felt  better,  so  much  better 
that  to  the  surprise  of  the  household  he  dressed  and  came 
downstairs.  The  feeling  of  nausea  had  gone,  and  with  it  the 
sharp  pains,  but  there  was  a  queer  feeling  in  his  side  he  could 
not  describe,  a  feeling  of  fulness,  a  dull  heaviness  that  was 
more  of  an  ache  than  a  pain.  He  could  not  refrain  from 
passing  his  hand  over  his  side  from  time  to  time  while  he  was 
dressing  and  even  after,  to  see  if  the  swelling  he  had  noticed 
was  still  there.  No;  he  was  not  mistaken,  it  was  there,  now 
that  he  knew  where  to  look.  He  could  even  feel  it  through 
his  clothes,  and  wondered  what  it  was,  and  how  long  it  had 
been  there.  Yes;  he  would  have  to  consult  a  doctor, — 

[314] 


Father  and  Son 

unless  he  felt  better;  there  was  always  the  hope  of  getting 
well  without  calling  a  doctor.  To  his  dislike  of  doctors  was 
now  added  his  dread  of  the  surgeon;  he  knew  they  would 
want  to  cut  into  him,  if  only  to  find  out  what  was  the 
matter. 

While  he  was  reading  the  morning  paper  his  mind  kept 
wandering  from  the  news  to  his  condition ;  a  half-column  on 
the  financial  page  devoted  to  rumors  of  more  intimate  rela 
tions  between  the  International  and  the  Union,  "  made  neces 
sary  by  the  absorption  of  Borlan  Bros,  by  Ganton  &  Co.,"  as 
the  papers  put  it,  diverted  him  for  a  moment  from  his  own 
condition.  "  So  they  are  getting  together,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  smiled  grimly.  "  I  thought  they  'd  be  stirred  up  some; 
maybe  one  of  'em  will  want  to  sell  some  of  these  days."  For 
the  moment  he  dropped  the  paper  and  reflected  upon  what 
would  happen  if  Ganton  &  Co.  bought  up  either  of  its  two 
great  competitors.  There  would  n't  be  much  left  then  in  the 
way  of  competition  in  either  buying  or  selling,  and  a  very 
slight  increase  of  prices  would  yield, —  the  figures  ran  into 
the  millions,  but  he  required  no  pencil  and  paper  to  arrive 
at  results. 

He  knew  the  Union  Company  would  really  like  to  sell  out ; 
he  knew  Range  Salter  wanted  to  retire  from  business.  "  That 
comes  from  having  a  wife  who  wants  to  mix  up  in  the  fool 
world ;  it 's  the  ruin  of  many  a  good  business  man ;  Salter 's 
not  half  the  man  he  used  to  be,"  he  had  often  remarked  to 
Browning. 

A  shooting  pain  reminded  him  of  the  place  in  his  side. 
What  if  he  should  not  get  well  ?  What  if  there  should  be 
something  dangerous  the  matter  with  him  ?  What  would 
happen  if  —  he  did  not  like  to  think  of  dying,  he  would  not 

[315] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

think  of  it;  he  was  not  an  old  man,  there  were  years  of  hard 
work  in  him  yet. 

His  head  sank  forward  on  his  breast.  He  looked  so  old 
and  thin  and  yellow  as  he  sat  there  lost  in  thought. 

When  Will  entered  the  room  a  little  later  he  found  his 
father  dozing,  the  papers  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  He  aroused 
himself  when  he  heard  the  door  close  and  Will  asked : 

"  How  are  you  feeling,  father  ?  " 

"  Better  —  a  good  deal  better.  I  guess  I  '11  be  all  right 
to-morrow." 

Will  sat  down  near  him  and  for  a  few  moments  nothing 
was  said.  John  Ganton  knew  that  WTill  was  about  to  speak 
of  his  engagement,  for  there  was  something  in  the  constraint 
of  the  young  man's  manner  which  betrayed  his  purpose. 
The  old  man  waited,  his  lips  closing  tightly  together.  It  was 
time  they  had  an  understanding, —  the  thing  had  gone  far 
enough. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  something,  father, 
but  —  "  and  Will  hesitated.  "But  I  am  afraid  you  are  not 
feeling  well  enough  — 

"Go  on.  I'm  all  right.  What  is  it?"  was  the  curt 
response. 

Will  could  not  recall  just  the  words  he  had  intended  to 
use.  He  felt  confused ;  and  after  shifting  about  in  his  chair, 
at  length  blurted  out : 

"Father,  I  'm  engaged  to  be  married." 

Without  betraying  the  slightest  surprise,  John  Ganton 
asked  slowly,  "Who  's  the  girl  ?  " 

"  May  Keating."  Will  felt  his  heart  thump  as  he  watched 
his  father  anxiously.  To  his  surprise  there  was  no  such 
outburst  of  anger  as  he  expected. 

[316] 


"  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you"  his  father  repeated  in  harsher 
tones.     "  If  you  marry  that  girl  I  'II  cut  you  off  without  a  penny. " 


Father  and  Son 

"So  I've  been  told;  so  I've  been  told,"  the  old  man 
repeated.  "Well,  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you." 

''  But,  father,  you  don't  mean  to  say  if  I  marry  May  Keat 
ing,  you  '11  —  you  '11  — 

Will  could  not  utter  the  words  hovering  on  his  lips,  for 
he  really  did  not  care  so  much  for  the  money  as  he  did  about 
the  breach  with  his  father.  He  could  not  believe  his  father 
would  be  so  vindictive,  there  being  nothing  of  that  element 
in  his  own  nature. 

"  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you,"  his  father  repeated 
in  harsher  tones.  "  If  you  marry  that  girl  I  '11  cut  you  off 
without  a  penny.  I  mean  what  I  say,  I  don't  propose  to 
have  any  daughter  of  Jem  Keating  living  on  my  money,  so 
if  you  marry  her  you  '11  have  to  earn  your  own." 

"  But,  father  —  " 

"  You  need  n't  talk  any  more  about  it;  you  can  make  your 
own  bed  and  lie  on  it.  But  if  she  makes  such  a  fool  of  you 
as  her  sister  has  made  of  John  Wilton,  you  may  be  sorry  when 
it 's  too  late." 

Will's  face  flushed ;  he  knew  only  too  well  what  his  father 
meant. 

"  There  's  a  good  deal  of  difference  between  May  Keating 
and  her  sister,"  he  answered  hotly. 

"  About  as  much  difference  as  bet\v  een  two  peas  in  a  pod ; 
they  're  from  the  same  worthless  stock;  there  's  not  an  honest 
hair  in  Jem  Keating's  head,  and  the  girls  are  like  him.  They 
want  you  for  your  money.  When  they  find  out  you  won't 
get  any,  they  '11  drop  you  quick  enough."  The  keen  gray 
eyes  looked  at  Will  from  beneath  the  bushy  eyebrows  as  if 
to  read  the  young  man's  thoughts. 

Without  stopping  to  think,  Will  said,  "  There  's  where  you 
[317] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

do  her  an  injustice,  father,  for  I  have  told  her  what  you  said, 
and  she  is  willing  to  marry  me  anyway." 

"  So  —  so  —  she  thinks  I  won't  keep  my  word, —  that 
after  you  're  married  I  '11  give  in.  Well,  she  '11  see  —  she  '11 
see."  The  tone  was  so  bitter  and  relentless  that  Will  felt 
saying  anything  more  would  only  anger  his  father.  He  sat 
silent  for  some  minutes,  arose,  and  left  the  room. 


[318] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MRS.   JACK'S  DINNER 

THERE  were  thirty-two  at  the  big  dinner  Mrs.  Jack 
gave  for  her  sister  and  Will  Ganton.  On  this  and 
similar  occasions  she  supplemented  her  own  household 
force  by  a  chef  from  Kinsby's  and  with  four  men  from  the 
Club.  One  winter  she  had  a  chef  of  her  own,  a  Frenchman 
who  looked  very  stunning  in  his  cap  and  apron.  But  he 
weighed  nearly  three  hundred  pounds,  required  so  many 
assistants,  consumed  so  much  claret,  made  such  rich  sauces 
and  such  desperate  love  to  all  the  maids,  that  she  was  obliged 
to  discharge  him, —  to  the  great  relief  of  John  Wilton,  who 
could  not  stand  the  "beastly  tub,"  as  he  called  the  man. 
For  the  month  after  they  lived  on  beefsteak  and  boiled  po 
tatoes  cooked  by  Maggie,  the  laundress,  who  had  served  her 
time  in  the  kitchen. 

"A  Frenchman  may  know  how  to  cook  snails,"  Wilton 
remarked,  "  but  he  frizzles  the  hide  off  a  beefsteak,  and  as 
for  plain  ham  and  eggs,  they  look  and  taste  as  if  they  had 
come  from  a  hair-dresser's." 

Mrs.  Jack  was  greatly  disappointed;  she  had  expected 
so  much  from  the  chef.  He  had  worked  for  some  of  the  best 
families  in  New  York,  so  he  said.  Furthermore  he  had 
once  cooked  a  dinner  in  Paris  for  King  Edward  when  he  was 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  in  the  habit  of  dining  about  a  little  more 
promiscuously, —  not  to  mention  lesser  notabilities  without 
end.  Yet  his  first  dinner  in  the  Wilton  mansion  was  a  fail- 

[319] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

ure,  the  purte  was  thick,  cold,  and  pasty,  the  fish  was  drowned 
in  an  evil -smelling  sauce  which  deterred  all  the  guests  except 
old  Colonel  Blowitt,  who  related  how  out  West  he  once  ate 
bronco-steak  smothered  in  onions,  and  found  it  very  palata 
ble,  and  he  insisted  that  down  South  during  the  war  a  puppy 
was  a  most  excellent  substitute  for  young  pig.  But  then 
every  one  knew  that  nothing  ever  discouraged  the  gallant 
Colonel's  appetite, —  not  even  an  unknown  fish  in  a  sea  of 
doubtful  sauce.  The  entree  was  a  mystery;  the  roast  a 
cinder;  the  game  scarce  warmed  through.  When  Mrs. 
Northwood  King  reached  home  after  this  dinner  she  ex 
claimed  to  her  maid :  "  For  goodness  sakes,  get  me  something 
to  eat!  I 'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

Other  dinners  were  better,  because  Maggie,  the  laundress, 
helped;  that  is,  she  did  the  cooking  to  suit  herself,  while  the 
fat  chef  sat  in  the  centre  of  the  kitchen  and  gave  orders  in 
broken  English  which  no  one  understood  or  noticed. 

After  the  one  experience  with  the  French  chef,  Mrs.  Jack, 
like  most  of  her  acquaintances,  relied  upon  the  caterer  for  a 
cook  when  the  occasion  exceeded  the  capacity  of  her  own 
household.  As  the  caterer  supplied  not  only  the  cook,  but 
most  of  the  things  served,  from  soup  to  dessert,  the  custom 
led  to  a  sameness  in  dinners  so  surprising  that  it  caused  a 
distinguished  guest  in  the  city  to  remark,  after  being  enter 
tained  at  several  houses:  "Chicago  dinners  are  good,  very 
good  indeed ;  but  they  lack  individuality.  They  all  savor 
of  the  same  kitchen." 

As  for  butlers,  footmen,  waiters,  and  men  to  stand  about 
in  "  elegant  superfluity,"  as  Slafter  remarked,  the  Club  was 
the  never-failing  source  of  supply.  Many  a  visitor  remarked 
upon  the  extraordinary  resemblance  between  the  servants 

[320] 


Mrs.  Jack's  Dinner 

employed  by  different  hosts,  and  the  more  discerning  de 
tected  the  identity  at  first  glance.  Wilton  was  always  glad 
to  have  the  men  from  the  Club.  It  was  his  way  of  tipping 
them,  for  then  he  could  give  them  what  he  pleased  without 
infringing  any  club  rule,  and  his  liberality  was  not  forgotten. 

The  great  dining-room  was  brilliantly  lighted,  too  bril 
liantly, —  which  was  one  of  Mrs.  Jack's  failings.  She 
thought  candle-light  was  all  well  enough  if  supplemented 
by  plenty  of  electricity.  She  covered  her  table  with  candle 
sticks  because  that  was  the  thing  to  do,  but  a  dazzling  array 
of  electric  lights  above  quite  overwhelmed  the  timid  light 
below.  May  had  often  tried  to  persuade  her  sister  to  try 
only  the  candle-light,  but  the  effort  was  in  vain.  "If  you 
want  to  sit  in  the  dark  you  can  do  so,  but  I  like  to  see  what 
I  'm  eating,"  Mrs.  Jack  replied,  and  ordered  the  man  to  turn 
on  more  light. 

"One  can't  have  too  much  light,  May,  with  a  French 
cook,"  Wilton  remarked  during  the  chef's  regime,  as  he 
peered  apprehensively  into  the  dish  before  him. 

Will  Ganton  sat  at  Mrs.  Jack's  right;  J.  Bosworth  Wai- 
worth  at  her  left.  It  was  the  first  time  the  Walworths  had 
dined  with  the  Wiltons,  though  often  invited.  The  Wai- 
worths  were  among  the  most  exclusive  people  of  the  city, 
as  became  a  man  whose  antecedents  were  wrapped  in  dis 
creet  obscurity.  No  one  knew  just  who  Walworth's  father  and 
grandfather  were,  and  though  Mrs.  Bosworth  Walworth 
talked  more  or  less  definitely  of  distinguished  Massachusetts 
ancestry,  the  connecting  links  were  shadowy  and  unsub 
stantial.  There  is  a  pride  of  obscurity  as  well  as  of  race,  of 
uncertain  lineage  as  well  as  of  certain;  the  luckless  man 
socially  is  he  whose  father  sits  about  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and 

[3211 


Ganton  &  Co. 

betrays  signs  of  honest  toil.  The  \Valworth  ancestors  on 
both  sides  were  not  in  evidence,  hence  the  pride  of  their 
descendants. 

The  Walworths  had  no  objection  to  ^Yilton,  for  his  father 
had  been  an  old  resident  and  a  man  of  wealth.  But  Mrs. 
Jack  was  the  more  than  doubtful  quantity.  As  "  one  of  the 
Keating  girls,"  she  had  no  passport  into  exclusive  circles; 
after  her  marriage  and  the  building  of  the  great  house  which 
so  dwarfed  the  modest  colonial  house  beside  it,  Mrs.  Wai- 
worth  called  "in  self-protection,"  for,  as  she  explained  to 
a  sympathizing  friend,  "the  young  woman  has  a  tongue." 

Personally  J.  Bosworth  was  rather  captivated  by  his  fair 
neighbor,  who  understood  so  well  how  to  flatter  his  vanity. 
He  saw  quite  a  little  of  her  on  the  walk,  and  she  was  always 
so  gracious  that  he  could  not  help  liking  her.  From  time 
to  time  he  had  in  an  indirect  way  urged  his  wife  to  be  a  little 
more  condescending  and  friendly.  "They  are  our  neigh 
bors,  you  know,  my  dear,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  I  can't 
help  it  if  they  are,"  Mrs.  AV.  replied  snappishly,  "I  don't 
propose  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  cultivate  a  woman  who  is  the 
talk  of  the  town."  But  in  the  end  Mrs.  Walworth  was  com 
pelled  to  acknowledge  that  to  be  the  talk  of  the  town  was  in 
itself  a  species  of  distinction  wrhich  commanded  recognition. 

J.  Bosworth  was  not  handsome, —  one  of  the  many  ob 
vious  facts  he  did  not  recognize.  He  was  short,  stout,  and 
pursy,  with  thin  hair  carefully  parted  in  the  middle  from  his 
forehead  down  the  back  of  his  head,  and  brushed  forward 
over  his  ears  to  meet  his  reddish  side- whiskers,  which  stood 
out  from  his  cheeks  as  straight  as  he  could  train  them, — 
"after  the  manner  of  the  old  school,"  he  persuaded  himself. 
Like  most  short  men,  he  eked  out  his  stature  by  a  pomposity 

[322] 


Mrs.  Jack's  Dinner 

which  did  not  fail  to  impress.  His  one  weakness  was  a 
pretty  face, —  he  could  not  help  it.  In  the  presence  of  a 
pretty  woman  he  invariably  gave  the  reddish  side-whiskers 
an  extra  twist  to  make  them  flare  still  more.  Unhappily 
for  him,  this  habit  was  so  fixed  that  his  wife  could  tell  from 
the  angle  of  the  whiskers  what  he  had  been  doing  and  saying, 
—  not  that  J.  Bosworth  ever  exceeded  the  bounds  of  friendly 
intercourse,  but  he  had  so  many  enthusiasms  they  bored  his 
wife.  He  urged  her  to  call  on  every  pretty  newcomer  who 
smiled  on  him,  and  he  sometimes  carried  his  point,  as  in  the 
case  of  Mrs.  Jack. 

J.  Bosworth  posed  as  a  patron  of  the  fine  arts,  and  of 
things  aesthetic  and  intellectual  in  general.  He  was  one  of 
the  governing  members  of  the  Institute  for  Fine  Arts,  an 
officer  of  the  Historical  Society,  a  trustee  of  the  University, 
a  supporter  of  the  Ruskin  Settlement,  and  prominently 
identified  with  many  other  public  and  charitable  organiza 
tions  of  various  kinds, —  not  that  he,  himself,  gave  liberally 
to  the  several  causes,  but  he  made  a  good  figurehead,  and 
generously  solicited  his  friends  to  give. 

On  the  whole,  J.  Bosworth  was  a  credit  to  the  city,  "a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school,"  in  the  admiring  eyes  of  the 
rawer  social  products  about  him.  As  he  sat  by  Mrs.  Jack 
and  drank  in  the  flattery  which  flowed  in  ample  stream  from 
her  plump  red  lips,  his  round  face  beamed  and  his  whiskers 
stood  out  in  sharp  points  on  each  side  of  his  blooming  cheeks ; 
from  the  far  end  of  the  great  oval  table  Mrs.  Walworth  could 
see  these  signs  of  naive  delight,  and  rightly  interpreted  their 
meaning. 

"Your  wife  has  quite  fascinated  my  husband,"  she  re 
marked  dryly  to  Wilton. 

[323] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  Gad,  when  she  sets  out  to  she  can  fascinate  any  man." 

"Oh!"  was  Mrs.  Walworth's  only  response. 

"  So  you  like  my  poor  little  house  ?  "  Mrs.  Jack  looked 
so  sweetly  at  J.  Bosworth  that  he  could  do  no  less  than 
reply: 

"It  is  charming,  Mrs.   Wilton,  perfectly  charming.     It 
exhibits  such  —  such  extraordinary  taste, —  such  —  such  —  ' 
He  coulcf  get  no  further;   his  aesthetic  conscience  began  to 
smite  him.  and  smite  him  hard. 

"I  am  so  glad;  praise  from  you  —  "  Mrs.  Jack  laid  the 
stress  of  her  eyes  upon  the  "  you "  —  "  means  so  much. 
You  are  such  an  authority  that,  do  you  know,  I  was  almost 
afraid  to  build  my  house  next  to  yours." 

Down  deep  in  his  heart  J.  Bosworth  wished  she  had  not, 
but  with  his  lips  he  expressed  the  disappointment  he  would 
have  felt  had  she  built  elsewhere. 

"Your  house  is  such  a  dear,"  Mrs.  Jack  went  on  enthusi 
astically.  "Everybody  says  our  two  houses  just  set  each 
other  off  to  the  best  advantage." 

J.  Bosworth  discreetly  avoided  assenting  to  that  proposi 
tion. 

Despite  Mrs.  Jack's  best  efforts,  there  were  moments  when 
the  dinner  dragged.  May  Keating  exerted  herself  to  be 
agreeable,  but  the  effort  was  too  obvious;  and  it  was  not  until 
he  had  drunk  several  glasses  of  champagne  that  Will  Ganton 
was  able  to  reply  in  other  than  monosyllables. 

John  Wilton  was  never  very  bright  at  a  dinner.  He  had 
long  been  voted  just  a  little  heavy,  and  hostesses  always  had 
trouble  in  placing  him,  but  on  this  occasion  his  sympathies 
were  so  enlisted  that  he  aroused  himself  and  fairly  shone  — 
for  him.  He  proposed  the  health  of  Will,  and  of  May,  and 

[324] 


Mrs.  Jack's  Dinner 

of  nearly  every  one  at  the  table  at  inopportune  moments, 
and  by  dint  of  much  champagne,  supplemented  by  not  a 
little  whiskey  and  water  for  those  who  did  not  drink  wine, 
he  kept  his  end  of  the  table  fairly  lively.  Notwithstanding 
all  these  efforts,  there  were  lapses  which  were  depressing,  and 
everybody  was  glad  when  the  end  came  and  the  ladies  retired. 

As  the  men  drew  their  chairs  about  one  end  of  the  table 
and  lighted  their  cigars,  George  Axford  shook  Will  Ganton's 
hand  cordially,  exclaiming:  "Will,  old  man,  I  congratulate 
you.  You  are  a  lucky  fellow." 

"  Many  thanks,  Axford.  Why  don't  you  follow  my 
example  ?  " 

"  Can't  afford  it.  A  wife  is  an  expensive  luxury,  nowa 
days.  " 

Axford  was  rich,  but,  as  his  friends  well  knew,  he  was  not 
inclined  to  spend  money  on  any  one  but  himself. 

"You  can  afford  it  better  than  I,"  Will  laughed  as  he 
accepted  the  small  glass  of  cognac  the  butler  offered  him. 

"  If  I  had  an  interest  in  Ganton  &  Co.,  I  might  afford  a 
dozen  wives.  As  it  is  I  have  all  I  can  do  to  feed  and  clothe 
myself." 

"  That 's  all  right,  but  I  may  be  borrowing  of  you  yet, 
old  fellow."  The  sudden  change  in  Will's  voice  and  manner 
did  not  escape  his  friend,  and  Axford  was  sorry  he  had  men 
tioned  Ganton  &  Co.  The  words  had  slipped  out  before  he 
thought,  and,  as  the  chance  expression  invariably  does,  they 
had  betrayed  the  thought  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all 
present  that  evening.  He  dropped  the  subject  and  tried 
to  talk  of  other  things. 

The  men  moved  their  chairs  about  until  the  party  was 
split  up  into  twos  and  threes,  each  group  talking  of  what 

[325] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

most  interested  them,  mainly  business  or  politics;  now  and 
then  loud  laughter  followed  a  funny  story,  which  was  repeated 
for  the  benefit  of  others.  The  conversation  was  animated. 
However  stupid  and  hopeless  during  a  dinner,  the  American 
business  man  shines  so  soon  as  the  ladies  disappear.  If  he 
can  not  talk  to  them,  he  can  talk  with  his  fellow-kind  and 
talk  well. 

By  the  irresistible  attraction  of  repulsion,  Wilton  found 
himself  and  Delaney  chatting  quite  apart  from  the  others. 
He  did  not  like  Delaney,  and  the  latter  knew  it ;  hence  the 
two  were  more  than  ordinarily  cordial  when  they  met,  as  if 
each  unconsciously  felt  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  an  ap 
pearance  of  friendship  to  blind  the  eyes  of  the  curious.  This 
was  not  difficult  for  Delaney,  he  had  no  trouble  in  dissem 
bling  ;  besides,  he  was  not  the  offended  party  —  and  that 
makes  a  difference.  Wilton  always  felt  embarrassed  when 
the  other  was  about,  and  his  embarrassment  showed  plainly 
in  the  effort  he  made  to  appear  at  ease.  It  went  against 
the  grain  of  his  blunt  and  straightforward  nature  to  pre 
tend  what  he  did  not  feel.  He  therefore  did  his  best  to  keep 
up  the  conversation  without  touching  the  one  subject  he 
wanted  to  speak  about;  he  would  have  given  anything  to 
be  able  to  talk  right  out,  to  tell  Delaney  what  he  thought 
of  him,  and  then  kick  him  out  of  the  house.  But  he  knew 
that  would  never  do.  He  had  to  consider  not  only  his  wife,  but 
their  boy, —  if  it  were  not  for  Major  he  would  make  a  scene, 
yes,  he  knew  he  should.  These  ideas  were  passing  through 
his  mind,  even  as  he  sat  there  talking  as  calmly  as  if  he  liked 
the  man.  How  he  detested  those  thin,  clean-cut  features! 
The  droop  of  the  mustache  annoyed  him,  for  the  fellow 
was  handsome,  no  mistake  about  that,  and  small  wonder 

[326] 


Mrs.  Jack's  Dinner 

women  raved  over  him.  He  looked  cynical  enough  to 
doubt  the  existence  of  any  virtue  in  man  or  woman,  and 
Wilton  could  not  help  recalling  some  of  the  ugly  stories  he 
had  heard,  stories  of  all  sorts  of  entanglements  and  rumors 
of  irregularities  in  business  transactions,  which,  if  proved, 
would  ostracize  the  man  from  the  clubs  and  more  than  likely 
land  him  in  jail.  He  was  capable  of  anything,  not  much 
question  about  that;  still  he  must  have  his  good  qualities, 
for  May  said  he  had,  and  she  knew.  During  a  pause  in  their 
conversation,  for  lack  of  something  better  to  say,  he  asked 
idly: 

"What 's  doing  in  the  market,  anything ? " 

"Nothing,  the  public  are  out  of  it.  Only  professional 
trading,  and  that  does  not  come  my  way."  Delaney  spoke 
in  a  tone  of  indifference,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  not 
been  so  reduced  financially  in  a  long  time.  His  few  cus 
tomers  were  out  of  the  market  entirely;  if  something  did  not 
turn  up  before  long  he  would  be  at  the  end  of  his  resources. 

What  prompted  him  to  do  it  Wilton  could  not  for  the 
life  of  him  tell,  for  certainly  there  was  no  reason,  rather  the 
contrary,  why  he  should  help  Lawrence  Delaney;  but 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse  he  said : 

"I  never  speculate  myself,  but  I  can  give  you  a  pointer 
which  may  be  useful;  Union  Copper  will  resume  dividends 
at  the  next  meeting  of  the  board." 

Wilton  was  a  large  stockholder  and  an  influential  director 
in  Union  Copper ;  interests  he  inherited  had  been  taken  into 
the  great  consolidation  of  mining  properties,  and  it  was 
about  the  only  company  in  the  management  of  which  he 
actively  participated.  Delaney  knew  all  this,  and  further 
more  he  knew  that  if  dividends  were  to  be  resumed  in  the 

[327] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

near  future  it  meant  an  advance  of  at  least  twenty  points  in 
the  stock. 

"May  I  rely  upon  that?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "You 
know  I  have  mighty  little  to  lose." 

"Such  is  the  present  intention,"  Wilton  answered  dryly, 
sorry  he  had  mentioned  the  matter.  "  I  have  steadily  opposed 
dividends,  but  the  company  is  now  in  a  position  to  resume." 

That  settled  it,  for  it  had  been  a  matter  of  common  knowl 
edge  in  the  Street  that  for  more  than  a  year  the  Wilton  crowd 
on  the  board  of  directors  had  steadfastly  opposed  the  pay 
ment  of  dividends  until  the  company  should  accumulate  a 
surplus  sufficient  to  meet  every  possible  requirement. 

The  next  day  Delaney  began  buying  Union  Copper,  put 
ting  up  as  margins  not  only  the  little  money  he  had,  but  every 
cent  he  could  borrow.  As  the  stock  steadily  advanced  it 
was  not  difficult  for  him  to  secure  additional  credit  with  his 
bank  and  brokers,  since  every  purchase  showed  a  profit. 
He  kept  the  information  he  had  received  to  himself.  What 
was  the  use  of  bulling  the  market  when  he  was  trying  to  buy 
the  stock  on  his  own  account  ? 

After  the  great  dinner  was  over  and  the  last  guest  out  of 
the  house,  Mrs.  Jack  went  to  her  sister's  room  and  dropped 
into  a  chair  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  There,  it 's  over,  and  now  we  are  in  for  it,  and  no  mis 
take.  I  hope  you  won't  be  sorry."  Mrs.  Jack's  tone 
plainly  showed  that  she  felt  quite  sure  her  sister  would  be 
sorry;  she  did  not  like  the  situation  at  all,  and  she  did  not 
like  the  manner  in  which  their  friends  accepted  it;  she  felt 
for  once  in  her  life  she  had  made  a  mess  of  it. 

May  made  no  reply.  She  was  too  accustomed  to  Mrs. 
Jack's  moods  to  pay  much  attention  to  them. 

[328] 


Mrs.  Jack's  Dinner 

"Why  don't  you  say  something?"  Mrs.  Jack  asked 
crossly. 

"  What  is  there  to  say  ?  It  is  all  over,  and,  as  you  say, 
we  are  in  for  it.  Let  us  at  least  make  the  best  of  it." 

"That  Carrie  Trehvay,  how  I  detest  her!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Jack,  with  sudden  recollection  of  past  injuries. 

"I  thought  she  and  Larry  were  the  life  of  the  dinner." 

"She  thinks  she  can  monopolize  the  conversation  wher 
ever  she  is." 

"It  was  fortunate  for  us  she  did  this  evening." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  keep  up  your  end  better  ?  That  old 
cat,  Mrs.  J.  Bosworth  Walworth,  was  taking  everything  in." 

Down  deep  in  her  heart  Mrs.  Jack  was  immensely  de 
lighted  over  the  Walworths'  acceptance  of  her  invitation, 
but  at  the  same  time  she  did  not  like  Mrs.  J.  Bosworth  one 
little  bit,  and  she  knew  Mrs.  J.  Bosworth  did  not  like  her. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Jack  sat  there  commenting  upon 
the  dinner  and  her  guests  so  keenly  that  frequently  May 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling.  Mrs.  Jack  did  have  a 
tongue,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  With  unerring  pre 
cision  she  could  hit  the  weak  spots  in  the  social  or  private 
armor  of  her  acquaintances.  When  she  had  exhausted  the 
failings  of  her  guests  her  mind  veered  about  to  the  one 
subject  that  worried  her: 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  how  you  and  Will  Ganton  are  going 
to  live  if  that  old  brute  cuts  him  off." 

"Will  has  his  salary  and  an  interest  in  the  company. 
We  shall  get  along." 

"  That 's  a  fine  prospect  for  a  girl  like  you,  May  Keating," 
Mrs.  Jack  said  scornfully.  She  could  not  understand  how 
her  sister  accepted  the  situation  so  calmly. 

[329] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"I  am  satisfied." 

"No;  you  are  not  satisfied,  and  what  is  the  use  of  saying 
so?  You  are  just  throwing  yourself  away,  you  know  you 
are;  you  don't  love  him." 

"There,  Sally,"  May  interrupted  firmly,  "we  will  talk 
no  more  about  it.  Whether  I  love  Will  Ganton  or  not, 
I  am  going  to  marry  him.  I  like  him  as  well  as  I  shall  ever 
like  any  man."  She  began  quietly  gathering  up  her  things, 
which  where  scattered  about  the  room,  and  putting  them 
in  the  closet.  Mrs.  Jack  sat  silent  a  moment,  then  jumped 
up  and  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about  her  sister's  neck. 
"  Forgive  me,  dearie,  I  did  not  mean  it,  but  —  but  I  do  want 
you  to  be  happy,  and  —  and  — 

"There,  Sally,  never  mind,"  and  May  kissed  her  sister 
affectionately.  "It  is  all  right;  I  am  happy,  happier  than  I 
have  been  for  a  long  time.  I  feel  I  am  doing  the  decent 
thing,  anyway." 


[330] 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  STRAIGHT  TIP 

JOHN  GANTON  read  in  the  papers  all  about  Mrs. 
Jack's  big  dinner  and  the  formal  acknowledgment  of 
the  engagement;  his  square  jaws  set  firmly  together 
and  the  ugly  look  came  into  his  eyes,  but  he  said  not  a  word. 
His  wife  knew  there  was  a  storm  brewing,  and  she  fluttered 
about  the  house  anxiously,  afraid  to  speak.  Will  rather 
avoided  his  father,  but  when  they  did  meet  they  talked  of 
business  and  conditions  at  the  Yards,  each  trying  to  avoid 
the  subject  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

For  some  days  John  Ganton  had  felt  so  much  better  that 
he  was  greatly  encouraged ;  to  be  sure,  the  dull  feeling  in  his 
side,  the  sensation  of  fulness  with  occasional  shooting  pains, 
never  left  him,  and  there  was  always  the  swelling,  which 
he  could  now  see  quite  plainly  just  below  the  ribs.  It  did 
not  grow  smaller,  but  he  persuaded  himself  it  did  not  increase 
in  size.  Night  and  morning  he  carefully  examined  this 
strange  lump,  looking  at  it  and  feeling  of  it  carefully  and 
tenderly,  and  wondering  what  it  could  be. 

"It  must  be  a  strain,"  he  said  to  himself;  "that  is  what 
it  is,  and  it  will  go  away  after  a  while."  But  it  did  not  go 
away,  and  he  knew  it  was  no  strain,  for  he  had  never  had 
anything  like  it  before,  and  it  did  not  feel  like  the  soreness  of 
a  strain  or  of  a  bruise,  or  anything  he  had  ever  experienced, 
-  it  was  more  like  a  hard  place,  some  sort  of  a  large  lump 
inside.  He  knew  that  people  had  tumors  and  growths  which 

[331] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

had  to  be  cut  out,  but  he  fought  against  the  very  notion  of 
anything  of  the  kind.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
felt  better,  still  there  were  days  when  he  could  not  remain 
down  town  more  than  an  hour  or  two;  it  tired  him  so  he 
was  unfitted  for  business. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  growing  old,"  he  remarked  apologetically 
to  Browning;  "I  can't  stand  as  much  as  I  used  to."  But 
neither  Browning  nor  any  one  else  in  the  office  was  deceived 
by  his  efforts  to  disguise  his  condition ;  they  all  knew  he  was 
a  sick  man,  and  from  week  to  week,  almost  from  day  to  day, 
they  could  see  the  change  for  the  worse.  There  were  days 
when  he  looked  so  haggard  and  seemed  to  suffer  so  much 
they  all  wondered  at  his  coming  down  at  all. 

John  Ganton  was  not  unpopular  with  his  employees; 
on  the  contrary,  they  entertained  for  him  a  singular  sort  of 
regard  and  loyalty,  the  regard  and  respect  men  of  lesser 
ability  have  for  one  of  commanding  force  and  indefatigable 
energy.  They  followed  him  as  soldiers  follow  a  stern,  tyran 
nical,  but  successful  general;  they  were  the  rank  and  file 
of  the  most  powerful  industrial  organization  in  the  world, 
and  they  participated  in  its  prestige;  he  was  something 
more  than  their  employer,  he  was  their  leader.  In  his  way 
he  was  kind  to  those  about  him,  exacting  to  the  last  degree 
Every  one  had  to  work,  and  work  hard,  and  he  did  not  believe 
in  large  salaries.  "  Many  a  good  man  is  spoiled  by  too 
much  pay,"  he  often  said.  "  The  man  who  works  for  money 
is  n't  worth  having,"  was  another  of  his  maxims.  To  men 
who  applied  to  him  direct  he  usually  said,  "  If  you  want  to 
work  for  Ganton  &  Co.  take  off  your  coat;  if  you  want  to 
work  for  wages  go  elsewhere." 

It  was  not   that  he    cared   so  much   for  money  but  he 
[  332  ] 


A  Straight  Tip 

honestly  believed  high  salaries  meant  less  work,  and  that  men 
did  better  if  they  had  to  work  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet; 
such  had  been  his  own  experience.  That  a  railroad  presi 
dent  should  be  paid  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  seemed  to 
him  folly  run  mad,  and  he  had  never  taken  for  himself  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year  out  of  his  own  business.  "  Pretty 
soon,"  he  said,  "those  fellows  won't  have  time  to  do  anything 
but  draw  their  pay  and  ride  around  in  private  cars." 

Like  so  many  American  business  men,  his  passion  was  the 
making  of  money,  not  the  hoarding  or  the  spending.  He 
took  a  certain  satisfaction  in  reading  references  to  him  as 
one  of  the  very  rich  men  of  the  country,  as  a  multi-millionaire, 
but  every  dollar  he  had  was  invested.  His  credit  was  well- 
nigh  unlimited,  but  he  had  very  little  ready  money,  and 
what  he  had  belonged  to  his  business,  his  personal  account 
at  the  bank  seldom  showing  more  than  a  few  thousand 
dollars. 

"  Why,  look  here,  I  have  no  money,"  he  once  said  impa 
tiently  to  a  committee  soliciting  a  subscription  for  an  ob 
ject  which  did  not  appeal  to  him,  when  the  spokesman 
suggested  that  with  his  great  wealth  he  ought  to  make  a 
liberal  contribution.  "  People  seem  to  think  I  have  money 
to  do  what  I  like  with.  I  have  no  money,"  he  repeated; 
"all  the  money  I  have  belongs  to  my  business.  You  talk 
about  my  being  worth  millions;  suppose  I  should  draw  out 
those  millions  as  if  I  owned  them,  what  would  happen  ? 
Ganton  &  Co.  would  close  its  doors,  thousands  of  men  would 
be  thrown  out  of  work,  people  all  over  the  world  who  look 
to  us  for  food  and  meat  would  go  hungry.  You  think  a 
man  is  rich  because  he  has  a  great  business,  but  I  want  to 
tell  you  the  man  and  all  he  has  belong  to  the  business. 

[333] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Every  dollar  I  draw  out  comes  from  the  business,  and  others 
are  affected ;  every  dollar  I  leave  in  does  good  to  more  people 
than  it  would  if  spent  by  you."  To  another  soliciting  com 
mittee  he  once  said :  "  Why  do  you  come  to  me  ?  I  'm  not 
rich;  why  don't  you  go  to  the  men  who  live  on  their  rents 
and  on  the  interest  from  their  investments  ?  They  have 
money  to  burn, —  their  money  is  their  own  to  do  with  as 
they  please;  my  money  is  tied  up  in  my  business,  every 
cent  of  it;  and  most  of  the  time  I  owe  the  banks." 

None  the  less,  he  gave  a  good  deal  in  his  own  way;  people 
who  knew  him  best  did  not  ask  him  for  money,  but  would 
make  known  the  merits  and  needs  of  the  institutions  in 
which  they  were  interested  and  leave  the  matter  without 
solicitation,  and  perhaps  a  month  or  a  year  later  he  would 
send  a  check,  usually  for  a  generous  amount. 

Since  reading  the  account  of  Mrs.  Jack's  dinner,  John 
Ganton  every  Sunday  morning  hunted  through  the  papers 
until  he  found  the  page  devoted  to  society  news,  and  searched 
these  columns  of  small  chronicles,  tittle-tattle,  and  gossip  for 
any  mention  of  Will's  name  in  connection  with  the  Wiltons 
and  May  Keating ;  in  this  way  he  kept  track  of  what  the  boy 
was  doing.  He  had  never  before  read  the  society  news, — 
according  to  his  notions  only  fools  could  be  interested  in 
that  sort  of  notoriety, —  but  now  this  endless  stream  of 
personal  mention  gave  him  information  he  could  get  nowhere 
else.  He  learned  of  the  luncheons  given  for  May  Keating, 
and  the  dinners  given  for  her  and  "Will,  how  often  they  were 
entertained  at  the  clubs,  and  who  made  up  the  parties. 
Some  of  the  men  mentioned  he  knew  personally  or  by  reputa 
tion,  but  the  women  he  did  not  know  at  all,  as  they  belonged 
to  a  world  he  had  never  entered.  Their  amusements  were 

[334] 


A  Straight  Tip 

as  strange  and  foolish  to  him  as  performances  on  the  stage. 
How  people  could  waste  their  time  in  such  ridiculous  fashion 
he  could  not  understand :  the  same  people,  the  same  names, 
the  same  dinners,  the  same  guests,  the  same  clubs,  the  same 
places,  the  same  endless  monotony  of  social  life, —  it  made 
him  tired  to  read  it,  and  only  the  desire  to  know  what  Will 
was  doing  spurred  him  on.  At  last,  one  Sunday  morning, 
he  read  the  following  paragraph: 

"  It  is  rumored  the  wedding  of  Miss  May  Keating  to  Mr. 
Will  Ganton  will  take  place  in  December." 

The  old  man  read  and  reread  the  item,  cut  it  out,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  All  that  day  he  was  restless,  uneasy, 
and  irascible,  shuffling  about  the  house  in  his  worn  old 
slippers. 

"What  is  the  matter,  John?  Do  you  feel  worse?"  his 
anxious  little  wife  inquired  several  times.  At  last  he  re 
sponded  angrily: 

"  Don't  keep  asking  me  that.     I  'm  all  right." 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  but  she  could  see  something 
worried  him.  With  a  mother's  intuition,  she  feared  it  was 
something  about  Will. 

The  next  morning  he  sent  word  for  Will  to  meet  him  in 
the  library  after  breakfast. 

The  old  man  dressed  slowly.  He  had  had  his  breakfast 
brought  to  his  room,  but  he  was  not  hungry.  Still,  he  drank 
half  a  cup  of  coffee  and  tried  to  eat  a  piece  of  the  toast  which 
his  wife  with  her  own  hands  had  made  and  buttered  for  him ; 
but  the  feeling  of  nausea  had  come  back  mornings.  He 
could  not  account  for  it,  but  he  thought  it  might  be  caused 
by  Doc  Ruggles's  mixture,  therefore  he  stopped  taking  it. 

[335] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

He  rested  a  few  moments  before  going  downstairs,  and 
the  feeling  of  nausea  passed  away.  When  he  entered  the 
room  Will  was  standing  by  the  windows  looking  out  upon  the 
street,  where  a  small  boy  and  a  little  girl  were  playing  as 
contentedly  as  if  life  were  one  long  day  of  sunshine.  As  he 
heard  his  father  enter,  Will  turned  and  asked  affectionately: 

"  Well,  father,  how  are  you  feeling  this  morning  ? " 

Without  answering,  the  old  man  sank  down  in  his  leather- 
covered  chair  near  the  table,  fumbling  in  the  pocket  of  his 
waistcoat  until  he  found  the  newspaper  clipping.  He  held 
it  out  to  his  son. 

"  Is  that  true  ? "  he  asked. 

Will  read  the  few  lines  of  print,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
replied  firmly: 

"  Yes,  it  is,  father, —  that  is,  wre  are  to  be  married  before 
the  holidays.  I  had  intended  telling  you ;  I  hoped  - 

"That's  enough,"  the  old  man  interrupted.  "That's 
enough,"  he  repeated  slowly;  "all  I  wanted  to  know  was 
whether  it 's  true  or  not.  So  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have."  There  was  no  accent  of  doubt  or  inde 
cision  in  the  answer;  it  wTas  final,  and  John  Ganton  knew  it. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "you  remember  what  I  told  you." 

Will  made  no  reply,  and  his  silence  angered  his  father. 

"You  remember  what  I  told  you,"  he  repeated  sharply; 
"you  can  shift  for  yourself  if  you  marry  that  girl." 

Will  knew  it  would  only  add  fuel  to  the  flame  if  he  at 
tempted  to  plead  or  argue ;  there  was  no  use  saying  a  word ; 
for  several  moments  his  father  glared  at  him,  then  he  con 
tinued  relentlessly: 

"You  will  need  some  money  to  get  married." 
[336] 


A  Straight  Tip 

Will  looked  at  his  father  in  surprise.  "I  —  I  can  get 
along,  father,"  he  stammered.  "I  have  some  — " 

"You  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world,"  the  old  man  inter 
rupted  grimly;  "you  are  overdrawn  at  the  bank  and  your 
salary  is  paid  ahead  over  a  month." 

"  But  I  shall  make  all  that  good  before  the  wedding.  I 
have  had  to  use  a  good  deal  of  money  lately." 

"In  entertaining  worthless  people, —  I  know,  I  know. 
I  have  read  of  your  doings  at  the  clubs  and  about  town, 
but  you  have  come  to  the  end  of  your  tether,  and  you 
have  n't  a  cent  of  money.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

Will  could  say  nothing.  It  was  all  true.  He  had  drawn 
his  salary  ahead  and  was  overdrawn  at  the  bank;  he  had 
spent  money  freely,  as  was  his  habit,  without  much  thought  of 
the  future.  The  truth  was,  he  believed  all  along  that  when 
the  time  came  his  father  would  give  in, —  it  did  not  seem 
possible  that  he  could  be  in  earnest. 

A  disagreeably  hard  expression  played  about  the  haggard 
features  of  the  old  man  as  he  noted  his  son's  embarrassment, 
then  he  went  on  in  the  same  relentless  tone: 

"  All  you  have  in  the  world  is  the  stock  in  Ganton  &  Co. 
that  I  gave  you  three  years  ago.  You  can't  sell  that  to 
anybody  but  me;  when  you  're  ready  to  sell  I  'm  ready 
to  buy." 

"  Father,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  me  to  give  up 
all  interest  in  the  business,  do  you  ?  "  There  was  a  pathetic 
ring  to  the  appeal,  which  would  have  moved  any  one  but 
John  Ganton.  Apparently  he  did  not  hear  it,  for  he  merely 
repeated : 

*'  When  you  're  ready  to  sell  I  'm  ready  to  buy." 
[337] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Will  looked  at  his  father  a  moment,  and  without  a  word 
left  the  room. 

That  afternoon  John  Ganton  was  seized  with  such  pain 
that  he  had  his  wife  telephone  Browning  to  come  to  the 
house  and  bring  his  physician. 

When  they  came  they  found  the  old  man  on  the  couch  in 
the  library.  He  would  not  go  to  bed,  for  he  was  afraid  that 
if  he  undressed  the  doctor  would  insist  on  an  examination 
and  discover  the  swelling  in  his  side. 

He  described  his  sensations  vaguely  as  pains  in  his  side 
and  cramps  in  his  stomach,  indicating  the  locality  by  passing 
his  hand  across  his  stomach  from  side  to  side  in  such  a  man 
ner  the  doctor  was  puzzled. 

"There  is  something  wrong  with  your  liver,  Mr.  Ganton. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Your  skin  shows  it." 

"That 's  just  what  Doc  Ruggles  said,"  the  old  man  com 
mented;  "he  said  it  was  my  liver." 

"  If  I  could  make  an  examination  — "  the  doctor  sug 
gested. 

"There's  no  need  of  it,"  the  old  man  interrupted  hur 
riedly.  "  I  guess  it 's  my  liver.  Can't  you  give  me  some 
medicine  that  will  stop  these  pains  ?  " 

"I  can  quiet  the  pains,  but  it  will  do  you  no  good  in  the 
long  run,  Mr.  Ganton;  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  submit 
to  an  examination  sooner  or  later,  and  I  should  advise  it 
immediately." 

"No;  you  just  give  me  something  to  stop  these  pains, 
and  I  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  doctor  could  see  the  old  man's  mind  was  absolutely 
fixed  against  anything  like  a  thorough  examination,  and  that 
for  some  reason  he  feared  it;  therefore  there  was  nothing  to 

[338] 


A  Straight  Tip 

do  except  administer  a  sedative,  just  sufficient  to  allay  the 
pains.  Accordingly  he  left  some  small  white  tablets,  with 
directions  how  and  when  they  were  to  be  taken.  "  But  these 
will  only  relieve  you  for  the  time  being,  Mr.  Ganton;  they 
will  not  cure  you." 

"  That 's  all  right.  If  I  can  get  the  better  of  these  pains 
I  '11  get  along  first  rate,"  the  old  man  replied  confidently. 

As  they  left  the  house  the  doctor  said  to  Browning : 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  something  very  serious  the  matter 
with  his  liver.  He  ought  to  submit  to  a  thorough  examina 
tion  at  once.  Under  the  influence  of  sedatives  he  may  feel 
better  for  a  short  time,  but  it  won't  last." 

The  prediction  came  true.  For  a  week  or  so  John  Ganton 
felt  much  better.  Each  night  he  took  one  of  the  little  white 
tablets,  and  it  deadened  the  pain  so  that  he  slept  better  than 
he  had  for  months.  The  feeling  of  nausea  troubled  him 
mornings,  and  he  had  so  little  appetite  that  he  had  to  force 
himself  to  eat;  but  all  this  he  did  not  mind  so  long  as  the 
sharp  pains  were  reduced  to  a  dull  ache,  which  was  often 
little  more  than  a  sensation  of  fulness  in  his  side.  He  was 
sorry  he  had  not  called  in  the  doctor  earlier  and  gotten  the 
little  white  tablets  which  acted  so  like  magic. 

During  these  days  of  temporary  relief  the  great  business 
of  Ganton  &  Co.  absorbed  all  his  attention;  it  seemed  to 
grow  and  expand  in  spite  of  him,  like  some  huge  devouring 
monster  that  gathered  strength  with  every  bound  and  swept 
on  in  uncontrollable  might  and  energy. 

It  was  with  surprise  that  he  noted  the  increase  in  the 
company's  English  business ;  the  Liverpool  office  had  accom 
plished  wonders  in  extending  trade,  not  only  throughout 

[339] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Great  Britain,  but  to  the  colonies.  MacMasters  wrote  it 
was  all  due  to  the  efforts  of  John,  that  the  young  man  had 
a  "  wonderful  head  on  his  shoulders,"  and  much  more  to  the 
same  effect.  This  pleased  the  old  man,  though  he  did  not 
quite  believe  it  all;  he  did  not  see  how  it  was  possible  for 
such  a  bookworm  to  develop  such  qualities.  However,  the 
growth  of  the  business  was  substantial  evidence  in  his  favor. 

Not  until  this  last  interview  with  his  father  did  Will 
Ganton  fully  realize  that  in  the  future  he  would  have  to 
depend  upon  his  salary  and  the  dividends  upon  the  stock  he 
held  in  Ganton  &  Co.  By  spending  less  recklessly  he  could 
get  along,  but  he  owed  quite  a  little  money  here  and  there, 
and  these  debts  must  be  paid  before  he  could  think  of 
marrying. 

It  cut  him  to  the  quick  when  his  father  offered  to  buy  his 
stock,  to  drop  him  out  of  the  business  entirely.  He  felt  so 
sure  that,  once  married,  May  would  win  his  father  over,  that 
he  would  not  think  of  selling  his  stock  or  severing  his  con 
nection  with  the  company.  May  could  do  anything  with 
people  about  her, —  she  was  so  clever,  and  he  had  the  blind 
faith  in  her  which  the  clever  woman  always  inspires.  But 
he  must  make  a  little  money  in  some  way;  naturally  his 
mind  turned  toward  speculation.  He  lived  in  an  atmosphere 
of  speculation;  his  father  was  the  most  powerful  factor  on 
the  Board  of  Trade,  and  hardly  a  day  passed  that  the  financial 
columns  did  not  contain  reports  of  the  activity  of  Ganton  & 
Co.  in  wheat  or  corn  or  pork.  It  was  a  part  of  their  great 
business  to  control  the  supply  and  prices  of  grain  and  food 
products;  their  representative  was  always  on  the  floor,  and 
every  big  firm  of  brokers  did  business  for  them. 

Will  had  not  speculated  since  his  last  disastrous  venture; 
[340] 


A  Straight  Tip 

he  had  steadfastly  refused  to  take  even  a  small  flyer,  but 
now,  under  the  pressure  of  necessity,  he  dropped  into  De- 
laney's  office  about  four  o'clock  one  afternoon,  just  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  He  found  Delaney  checking  up  some 
figures  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"  Anything  doing  in  the  market,  Larry  ?  "  he  asked  as  he 
seated  himself. 

"Not  much.  Rails  are  slow,  but  there  have  been  good 
advances  in  some  of  the  industrials  lately." 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  sure  thing  ?  " 

Delaney  hesitated,  looked  at  Will,  and  said: 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  I  thought  you  were  out  of  the  mar 
ket  for  good." 

"  Oh,  so  I  am,  but  I  would  n't  mind  making  a  little  money 
on  a  sure  thing." 

"There  are  not  many  sure  things  nowadays,"  Delaney 
answered  dryly. 

"That  may  be,  but  sometimes  you  fellows  get  pretty  re 
liable  tips.  The  fact  is,  Larry,  I  would  like  to  make  some 
money, —  I  need  a  few  thousand  pretty  badly." 

Delaney  thought  for  a  moment;  he  had  not  told  any  one 
about  Union  Copper,  and  he  had  not  intended  telling  any 
one.  But  there  was  really  no  reason  why  he  should  not  let 
Will  in;  he  had  bought  all  the  stock  he  could  carry,  and 
already  there  had  been  a  substantial  advance ;  in  fact,  he  was 
figuring  up  how  much  he  stood  to  win  as  Will  entered  the 
office.  The  stock  closed  that  day  eighty-two  bid;  he  had 
begun  buying  at  sixty-nine;  if  the  company  resumed  divi 
dends  at  the  next  directors'  meeting  the  stock  would  go  to 
par  sure. 

"I  can  give  you  a  pointer,  but  you  must  keep  it  quiet," 
[341] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

he  said  at  last.  Without  mentioning  Wilton's  name,  he  told 
what  he  knew  about  Union  Copper,  and  called  Will's  atten 
tion  to  the  recent  rapid  advance  in  the  stock. 

"If  you  are  sure  about  the  dividend  I  will  go  in,"  Will 
said,  after  considering  the  figures  Delaney  laid  before  him. 

"  My  tip  is  from  an  insider  who  knows,"  Delaney  answered 
positively. 

"  Then  go  ahead  and  buy  a  thousand  shares  for  me.  I  will 
arrange  for  the  margin.  I  may  take  on  more;  it  looks  safe." 

"  As  safe  as  anything  can  be.  The  company  is  sound,  and 
the  stock  will  sell  high  when  on  a  dividend  basis." 

The  stock  continued  to  advance,  and  Will  bought  all  told 
some  three  thousand  shares  at  from  eight-two  to  ninety; 
to  put  up  margins  he  was  compelled  to  borrow  money;  as 
the  son  of  John  Ganton  his  credit  was  good,  and  he  had  little 
difficulty.  He  felt  so  sure  of  making  from  ten  to  twenty 
points  on  the  stock  that  he  no  longer  worried  over  the  imme 
diate  future;  within  two  weeks  the  stock  he  had  bought 
showed  a  profit  of  over  twenty  thousand  dollars,  but  neither 
he  nor  Delaney  sold  any.  The  declaration  of  a  dividend 
would  send  the  stock  away  above  par,  so  both  bought  a  little 
more,  Delaney  in  his  confidence  going  so  far  as  to  pledge 
some  securities  that  did  not  belong  to  him. 

Larry  Delaney  felt  he  owed  this  lucky  stroke  entirely  to 
the  generosity  of  John  Wilton,  and  he  determined  to  show 
his  appreciation  by  keeping  away  from  Mrs.  Jack;  it  was 
the  least  he  could  do  in  the  circumstances.  He  knew  they 
were  talked  about  altogether  too  freely  for  the  good  name 
of  any  woman,  though  that  mattered  little  to  him.  He  had 
always  been  food  for  gossip,  and  it  was  part  of  the  atmos 
phere  in  which  he  lived,  part  of  his  fame,  his  notoriety,  his 

[342] 


A  Straight  Tip 

social  stock  in  trade;  women  were  attracted  toward  him 
because  to  know  him  implied  a  certain  risk,  a  certain  dare 
devil  recklessness  of  consequences;  there  was  a  hazard  in 
his  mere  acquaintance,  while  his  friendship  was  positively 
compromising. 

For  several  weeks  after  receiving  from  John  Wilton  the 
tip  about  Union  Copper,  Delaney  did  not  go  near  Mrs.  Jack; 
he  did  not  call  at  the  house,  and  declined  all  invitations. 
Mrs.  Jack  wrote  many  little  notes  on  the  paper  with  the  faint 
perfume  he  knew  so  well,  and  she  telephoned  again  and 
again;  but  he  pleaded  important  engagements  and  was  ob 
durate.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  the  decent  thing 
and  gradually  cut  loose.  He  had  meant  to  do  so  once  or 
twice  before  on  May's  account, —  in  fact,  he  had  said  to  May 
he  was  going  to  see  less  of  them,  and  she  knew  what  he  meant; 
but  somehow  things  had  drifted  along,  and  he  never  carried 
his  better  purposes  into  effect.  There  were  times  while 
playing  with  the  Major  —  he  liked  the  Major  better  than 
any  one  in  the  world  —  when  his  conscience  rallied  and  smote 
him,  and  he  looked  into  the  big  blue  eyes  of  the  little  fellow, 
and  thought  to  himself :  "  Major,  this  won't  do.  You  and 
I  are  friends, —  great  chums;  you  love  me  and  I  love  you, 
and  yet  all  the  time  I  am  hurting  you  behind  your  back. 
I  am  doing  something  that  will  make  you  feel  bad  when  you 
grow  up  if  you  hear  people  talk,  and  you  won't  like  me  any 
more;  you  will  hate  me.  No,  Major,  it  won't  do,  so  I  will 
just  pull  up."  But  he  did  n't  pull  up  until  he  felt  the  sense  of 
obligation  toward  Wilton ;  he  could  not  accept  a  favor  from 
a  man  and  repay  it  with  injury. 

Mrs.  Jack  was  piqued ;  she  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
this  sudden  change. 

[343] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

"  Where  's  Larry  nowadays  ?  "  May  asked  one  day,  sud 
denly  recalling  the  fact  he  had  not  been  around  for  two  weeks 
or  more 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,"  her  sister  snapped  out 
in  a  manner  that  showed,  while  she  might  not  know,  she  did 
care  very  much. 

May  said  nothing  more,  but  wondered  if  there  had  been  a 
quarrel. 

When  Will  Ganton  asked  Delaney  where  he  was  keeping 
himself,  the  latter  replied : 

"Work,  my  dear  fellow,  work.  I  can't  afford  the  social 
racket  all  the  time."  Even  Will  was  not  so  dense  as  to  be 
lieve  that. 

Delaney  did  turn  up  one  afternoon  at  a  reception  at  the 
Northwood  Kings' ;  on  catching  sight  of  him  Carrie  Trelway 
called  out  loud  enough  for  several  who  were  near  by  to  hear: 

"  Where  's  Mrs.  Jack  ?  She  has  been  looking  for  you 
everywhere  for  a  month." 

Everybody  smiled,  and  Delaney  himself  flushed  slightly, 
—  the  hit  was  too  palpable.  For  once  he  had  no  adequate 
reply  at  his  tongue's  end. 

"You  scored  that  time,  Carrie,"  said  one  of  her  friends 
admiringly. 

"  Sorry  I  said  it  now,"  Carrie  Trelway  remarked  in  a  low 
voice,  as  Delaney  turned  and  walked  away  without  a  word. 

He  had  come  early  hoping  to  get  away  before  Mrs.  Jack 
arrived,  but  fate  willed  otherwise;  she  came  in  just  as  he  was 
edging  his  way  out.  The  moment  she  saw  him,  she  beck 
oned  to  him  imperiously,  and  withdrawing  to  one  corner  of 
the  large  hall  she  asked  quickly: 

"Why  have  you  not  been  to  see  me  lately?  What  have 
[344] 


A  Straight  Tip 

you  been  doing?  What  is  the  matter?"  All  the  time  her 
clear  blue  eyes  were  fixed  so  steadfastly  on  his  that  he  felt 
confused,  and  hardly  knew  what  to  reply. 

"I  —  I  have  been  busy,"  he  stammered. 

"No;  you  have  not.  That  is  not  the  reason;  I  want  to 
know."  Her  voice  rose,  and  he  looked  around  apprehen 
sively,  lest  some  one  should  overhear  them.  At  a  little  dis 
tance  he  could  see  the  group  of  which  Carrie  Trelway  was 
the  centre  eying  them  curiously. 

"  This  is  no  place  to  talk,"  he  said  hurriedly. 

"  Then  wait  a  few  moments  until  I  can  get  away  and 
I  will  take  you  for  a  drive." 

He  knew  it  was  useless  to  plead  any  excuse,  as  he  had 
none ;  they  had  driven  away  together  from  too  many  similar 
affairs  for  him  to  decline  now.  Contrary  to  his  usual  manner, 
he  remained  in  the  corner  by  himself  while  Mrs.  Jack  flut 
tered  about  the  reception-room  in  such  high  spirits  as  to 
attract  comment.  "The  prodigal  has  returned,"  remarked 
Carrie  Trelway. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Delaney  ?  He  was  here  just  a 
moment  ago,  and  I  am  sure  he  was  looking  for  you,"  Mrs. 
Northwood  King  said  with  anxious  hospitality,  quite  uncon 
scious  of  any  possible  irony. 

Mrs.  Jack  murmured  something  in  reply.  She  resented 
the  interest  people  seemed  to  be  taking  in  her  affairs.  As 
soon  as  she  could  decently  do  so,  she  made  her  way  to  the 
hall,  ordered  her  carriage,  and  she  and  Delaney  went  out, 
leaving  a  buzz  of  comment  behind. 

Once  in  the  brougham,  Mrs.  Jack  turned  to  him  and  said, 
with  the  emphasis  of  a  woman  who  feels  she  has  the  right  to 
know,  "  Now  tell  me  why  you  have  not  been  to  see  me  lately." 

[345] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Delaney  had  been  thinking  all  the  time  he  waited,  and  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  speak  plainly.  He  saw  that  subterfuge 
would  be  idle,  and  only  exasperate  the  more. 

"There's  no  use.  This  thing  can't  go  on.  Jack  has 
done  me  a  great  favor  lately.  He  helped  me  out  of  a  bad 
hole.  He  is  a  royal  good  fellow,  and  the  least  I  can  do  is  to  — 
to  —  "  he  hesitated. 

"Thank  you;  you  needn't  say  it.  I  understand,"  she 
put  in  so  calmly  that  he  was  surprised  at  her  self-control. 
"Men  have  queer  notions  of  loyalty;  pray  what  has  Jack 
done  to  work  this  change  ?  " 

"Oh,  not  much;  only  a  tip  on  the  market,  but  it  came 
when  I  needed  it  badly." 

"  Only  a  tip  on  the  market!  I  thought  so,"  she  exclaimed 
scornfully;  "and  that  is  a  man's  notion  of  loyalty  —  to  drop 
a  woman  for  a  tip  on  the  stock-market." 

He  winced  because  he  could  not  help  it.  There  was  a 
measure  of  truth  in  what  she  said,  but  she  did  not  understand. 

"  It  is  not  the  money, —  that  is  not  it ;  but  it  is  the  fact 
that  he  did  me  a  kindness  in  his  off-hand,  generous  way 
when  there  was  no  need  of  his  doing  it.  He  does  not  like  me, 
and  I  know  it;  yet  because  I  happened  to  say  I  was  pretty 
hard  pressed  he  helped  me  out, —  even  a  dog  wTill  show 
gratitude  for  favors  received,"  he  argued. 

"  How  much  money  do  you  make  by  dropping  me  ?  " 
The  words  came  deliberately,  but  he  knew  she  was  filled  with 
rage  she  could  hardly  suppress. 

"  That 's  not  a  fair  way  of  putting  it,"  he  answered 
irritably.  "I  told  you  I  don't  care  anything  about  the 
money." 

"It 's  a  lie,"  she  burst  out,  losing  all  self-control.  ''It 's 
[346] 


A  Straight  Tip 

a  lie;  you  do!  You  know  you  do.  All  you  care  for  is 
money.  I  should  like  to  know  my  price.  If  you  have  sold 
me  for  less  than  —  than  a  million  you  're  a  brute !  "  She 
collapsed  into  tears.  There  was  something  so  ridiculous  in 
what  she  said  that  he  could  not  help  laughing,  and  in  the 
midst  of  her  tears  she  laughed  too;  the  strain  was  over;  he 
took  her  little  gloved  hand  in  both  of  his  and  said : 

"  Look  here,  I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  am  trying  to  do 
the  right  thing  for  once  in  my  life." 

"  That  is  all  right,"  she  sobbed ;  "  but  there  is  no  need 
of  doing  it  at  my  expense.  .  .  .  You  will  come  and  see  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"Why,  yes;  of  course  I  will,  but  not  so  often.  Let  us 
be  more  prudent,  let  us  —  " 

"  You  will  come  and  see  me  to-morrow,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  said  it  so  pleadingly  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  say  no,  much  as  he  honestly  wished  to. 

"  Yes  —  perhaps  —  I  will  see  —  would  it  not  —  " 

"To-morrow  at  five,"  she  murmured. 

He  yielded  like  an  exhausted  swimmer  struggling  against 
a  stiff  current,  but  he  firmly  determined  that  if  he  called 
the  next  day  he  should  not  go  again  for  a  good  long  time. 
He  intended  to  adhere  to  his  original  purpose,  though  he 
could  now  see  it  might  be  necessary  to  break  gradually,  if  he 
would  avoid  unpleasant  scenes. 

Mrs.  Jack  nestled  closer  beside  him.  It  was  dark  in  the 
park,  and  the  rays  of  the  high  electric  lights  scarce  penetrated 
the  interior  of  the  small  brougham  as  they  drove  on  north. 
Not  a  soul  could  see  them ;  the  two  perfectly  trained  men  on 
the  box  kept  their  eyes  fixed  ahead, —  the  whims  of  their  mis 
tress  were  not  their  business.  Mrs.  Jack  lifted  her  tear-wet 

[347] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

cheek  toward  Delaney.  "Kiss  me,"  she  murmured  softly. 
He  drew  back  a  little;  he  felt  that  if  he  yielded  all  his  good 
resolutions  would  go  for  naught,  and  he  must  draw  the  line 
somewhere. 

At  that  moment  a  large  swiftly  moving  automobile  with 
its  great  double  headlights  swept  suddenly  around  a  turn, 
and  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  the  interior  of  the  brougham 
was  as  light  as  day.  Startled,  Mrs.  Jack  drew  back  to  her 
own  side,  and  Delaney  shrank  into  his  corner.  The  auto 
mobile  was  gone  like  a  flash,  and  they  were  so  blinded  by 
the  sudden  glare  they  could  see  nothing. 

For  a  moment  they  sat  silent;  then  Mrs.  Jack  exclaimed 
nervously : 

'  Do  you  suppose  they  could  see  in  ?  " 

"I  don't  see  how  they  could  help  it;  they  were  right  on 
us  with  those  infernal  lights."  Delaney  felt  all  the  irritation 
of  a  man  caught  in  a  compromising  situation  at  a  moment 
when  he  was  trying  his  best  to  resist  temptation. 

"  Well,  it  was  probably  some  one  we  do  not  know."  Mrs. 
Jack  was  arguing  herself  out  of  her  fright. 

"They  might  know  us,  however.  ...  I  think  you  better 
tell  the  men  to  drive  back." 

On  the  return  they  exchanged  barely  a  word,  and  both 
were  oppressed  with  a  vague  feeling  of  apprehension.  De 
laney  was  angry  with  himself  to  think  he  had  come  at  all, 
Mrs.  Jack  felt  the  humiliation  of  a  woman  whose  advances 
are  repulsed.  He  was  dropped  at  North  Avenue,  and  she 
went  directly  home. 

John  Wilton  was  not  only  in  the  automobile;  he  was  on 
the  front  seat  with  the  chauffeur.  As  the  machine  swept 

[348] 


A  Straight  Tip 

around  the  turn  he  recognized  the  horses  and  brougham  as 
his,  and  by  the  glare  of  the  acetylene  lamps  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  wife  and  Delaney.  Then  all  was  dark  as 
the  big  automobile  passed  like  a  flash;  but  that  one  glimpse 
was  more  than  sufficient. 

For  the  moment  a  sickening  feeling  of  depression  came 
over  him.  The  anonymous  letter,  what  the  French  maid 
had  said,  the  brutal  remark  of  old  John  Ganton,  his  own 
suspicions,  —  all  came  back  to  him.  He  had  never  be 
lieved  his  wife  was  more  than  impulsive,  wilful,  and  im 
prudent;  he  had  never  believed  she  would  do  anything 
wrong,  thinking  she  had  too  much  sense,  if  not  too  much 
pride,  for  that.  She  merely  loved  notoriety, —  that  was 
her  weakness.  He  had  persuaded  himself  that  she  kept 
Delaney  at  her  heels  simply  to  make  people  talk,  and  he  had 
never  believed  there  could  be  anything  wrong;  but  now, 
with  his  own  eyes  he  had  seen  them  together,  driving  at 
nightfall  through  the  shadows  of  the  park;  he  had  seen 
them  side  by  side  like  two  lovers,  her  hand  in  his,  her  face 
turned  up  to  his.  He  wondered  if  the  chauffeur  beside  him, 
if  his  two  friends  in  the  tonneau,  recognized  who  were  in  the 
brougham.  The  fear  lest  they  had  overwhelmed  him  with 
shame.  How  could  they  help  seeing  what  he  saw  ?  The 
machine  was  right  on  the  carriage,  so  close  that  only  by  a 
sharp  turn  and  skilful  driving  had  the  chauffeur  avoided  a 
collision.  The  man  may  have  been  so  occupied  that  he 
had  no  time  to  look  at  the  occupants  of  the  brougham,  but 
his  friends  must  have  seen  everything  almost  as  plainly  as 
he  did,  the  light  was  so  bright.  To  be  sure  they  were  in 
the  tonneau,  and  there  was  a  bare  possibility  that  he  and 
the  chauffeur  cut  off  their  view.  But  no;  that  was  ridicu- 

[349] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

lous, —  the  sharp  swerve  made  by  the  machine  gave  them 
the  same  unobstructed  view, —  they  must  have  seen! 

All  the  way  down  the  Drive,  through  Rush  Street,  and  over 
the  bridge,  he  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  question 
whether  the  others  saw  or  not,  his  sudden  feeling  of  depres 
sion  giving  way  to  one  of  apprehension.  Not  a  word  had 
been  said  since  they  passed  the  carriage,  and  he  did  not 
like  that;  if  they  had  not  recognized  his  wife  they  would 
have  gone  on  talking.  Just  before  entering  the  park  they 
had  all  been  talking  about  something, —  he  could  not  re 
member  what,  but  they  were  talking  loudly  and  laughing. 
They  had  had  a  delightful  run  to  Fort  Sheridan  and  back, 
barely  escaping  arrest  in  Glencoe  for  exceeding  the  speed 
limit.  From  the  moment  of  meeting  the  carriage  not  a 
word  had  been  said.  As  they  slowed  up  at  the  bridge,  he 
half  turned  in  his  seat  to  say  something  to  break  a  silence 
that  seemed  to  him  so  ominously  oppressive,  but  he  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say.  He  even  thought  his  two  friends 
avoided  seeing  him,  for  one  looked  down  the  river  and  the 
other  turned  his  head  and  looked  back  up  the  street;  it  was 
probably  all  in  his  imagination,  but  it  certainly  did  seem  as 
though  they  wished  to  avoid  speaking. 

When  they  dropped  him  at  the  Club,  he  muttered  some 
thing  about  dining  down  town.  They  made  no  comment, 
neither  did  they  suggest  getting  out  for  a  drink,  seeming  to 
take  it  for  granted  he  would  prefer  to  be  left  alone ;  of  course 
they  knew. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  big  reading-room  except  two 
men  who  roomed  at  the  Club ;  they"  were  buried  in  the  even 
ing  papers,  and  did  not  look  up  as  Wilton  entered.  He 
passed  into  the  deserted  cafe,  ordered  a  whiskey  and  soda, 

[350] 


A  Straight  Tip 

drank  it ,  and  ordered  another.  After  drinking  three  in  suc 
cession,  he  felt  a  little  better.  The  glow  of  the  alcohol 
mounted  to  his  brain,  and  as  the  weight  of  fear  and  depres 
sion  lifted,  he  began  to  think  he  was  a  fool  to  get  in  such  a 
state  of  fright  over  what  his  friends  might  have  seen,  persuad 
ing  himself  that  his  own  eyes  might  have  deceived  him,  that 
it  was  all  so  sudden  his  imagination  had  distorted  the  scene. 
His  wife  would  not  do  anything  wrong.  Delaney  —  the 
thought  of  Delaney  filled  his  heart  with  rage.  How  he 
detested  the  man,  with  his  handsome  face,  his  cool,  cynical 
ways.  Who  was  he?  What  was  he?  No  one  knew;  an 
adventurer,  a  blackleg,  his  outspoken  enemies  said, —  but 
not  to  his  face. 

At  the  thought  of  Delaney,  Wilton  ordered  another 
whiskey  and  soda.  The  smooth-faced  waiter  looked  at  him 
in  surprise;  he  had  never  known  Wilton  to  drink  four 
whiskeys  in  rapid  succession.  Long  experience  within  the 
narrow  limits  of  club-life  had  made  him  quick  to  observe, 
and  he  knew  what  and  how  much  the  different  members 
drank.  When  any  man  drank  more  than  usual,  nine  times 
out  of  ten  he  could  guess  the  reason,  taking  the  same  kind  of 
pride  in  this  special  discernment  that  the  boy  in  the  coat- 
room  took  in  remembering  to  whom  each  hat  belonged. 
The  waiter  knew  that  something  troubled  Wilton;  it  was 
plain  from  his  manner  as  well  as  from  the  number  of  whiskeys 
he  ordered.  It  was  not  business,  for  it  was  not  the  hour 
of  day  for  business  worry.  It  was  not  losses  at  play,  for 
Wilton  never  worried  over  them.  Besides,  he  drove  up  in 
an  automobile  and  came  in  alone.  There  must  be  a  woman 
in  the  case, —  a  man  always  drank  more  recklessly  when 
there  was  a  woman  in  the  case. "'  If  it  were  only  business  a 

[351] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

man  would  drink  to  cheer  himself  up,  but  a  woman, —  that 
was  different;  then  he  drank  in  an  ugly,  desperate  mood 
and  for  forgetfulness. 

The  smug-faced  waiter  felt  sure  it  was  a  woman,  but 
whether  Wilton's  wife  or  some  one  else's  it  was  not  so  easy 
to  tell.  From  club  gossip  he  made  up  his  mind  it  was 
Mrs.  Jack.  He  had  never  heard  Wilton's  name  mixed  up 
with  that  of  any  other  woman;  so,  with  the  petty  curiosity 
of  a  man  whose  life  is  bounded  by  the  four  walls  of  a  cafe,  he 
watched  Wilton  as  he  sat  there  leaning  forward  with  one 
elbow  on  the  small  table. 

He  sat  there  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  then  he  ordered 
something  to  eat,  the  nip  of  the  alcohol  making  him  hungry. 
He  had  begun  to  forget  his  wife  a  little,  his  mind  wandering 
to  other  things.  He  was  not  intoxicated,  for  it  took  more 
than  four  whiskeys  to  intoxicate  him;  but  on  an  empty 
stomach  they  were  very  potent. 

When  the  boy  announced  that  his  dinner  was  served, 
he  went  up  to  the  dining-room.  The  two  members  who 
roomed  at  the  Club  were  dining  together  at  a  small  table 
just  behind  him,  and  he  could  hear  snatches  of  their  conver 
sation,  small  talk  about  business,  club-life,  and  people  he 
knew.  He  paid  no  attention  to  them,  though  there  was 
no  one  else  in  the  big  room.  He  wondered  how  men  could 
stand  it  to  live  in  that  way,  to  dine  in  such  dreary  loneliness ; 
for  his  part  he  had  never  cared  to  live  at  a  club.  Yet  the 
bachelor's  life  had  its  advantages,  for  they  could  talk  about 
the  wives  of  other  men  with  impunity;  they  had  nothing  to 
fear,  nothing  to  worry  about,  and  at  the  moment  he  almost 
envied  the  two  men  back  of  him.  Just  then  he  heard  one 
of  them  say,  "  Delaney  has  made  a  lucky  hit  lately." 

[352] 


A  Straight  Tip 

"How's  that?" 

"  Must  have  got  a  tip  on  Union  Copper,  for  he  began  buy 
ing  'way  down,  and  now  it 's  in  the  nineties.  If  dividends 
are  resumed  it  will  go  to  par,  and  he  will  stand  to  make  a 
mighty  pretty  sum." 

"  Guess  he  needs  it  badly  enough." 

"  I  hear  he  has  plunged  for  all  he  's  worth,  and  if  the  stock 
should  drop  he  would  go  broke;  but  they  say  there  is  no 
doubt  about  a  dividend  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  directors." 

John  Wilton  leaned  over  the  paper  which  he  had  spread 
out  on  one  side  of  his  table  and  appeared  absorbed  in  the 
news  on  the  front  page;  he  did  not  wish  to  be  caught  in  the 
attitude  of  listening,  but  he  could  not  help  overhearing,  and 
every  word  made  an  impression.  So  Delaney  had  acted 
upon  the  tip  he  had  given  him  and  bought  Union  Copper. 
The  meeting  of  the  directors  was  to  be  held  in  New  York  the 
following  week,  a  dividend  would  be  declared,  the  stock 
would  undoubtedly  go  to  par,  and  Delaney  would  clean  up 
a  lot  of  money.  But  if  the  dividend  should  be  passed  again 
—  what  then  ?  The  stock  would  drop  lower  than  it  ever  had 
been,  and  —  and  Delaney  would  go  broke.  That  was  what 
the  man  behind  him  had  said,  and  the  words  sank  deep  into 
John  Wilton's  slightly  befuddled  brain. 


[353] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DELANEY'S  LAST  PLAY 

IT  so  happened  that  the  regular  quarterly  meeting  of  the 
directors  of  the  Union  Copper  Company  fell  upon  the 
Tuesday    preceding    Thanksgiving,  —  an    inconvenient 
date,  as  it  gave  directors  attending  from  a  distance  scant  time 
to  return  home.     However,  John  Wilton  promised  to  be  back 
for  Thanksgiving  dinner, —  promised  not  his  wife,  but  the 
Major,  who  insisted  imperiously  that  everybody  should  be 
on  hand  holidays. 

'  'Oo  '11  be  back,  papa,"  he  said  as  his  father  picked  him 
up  and  kissed  him  good-bye  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  when 
he  was  leaving  the  house  to  take  the  Limited. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  be  back,  Major,  sure,  Thursday  morning." 

"  Bwing  me  a  box  toclates." 

Wilton  promised  not  to  forget  the  chocolates,  gave  the 
little  fellow  a  final  hug,  put  him  down  in  the  vestibule,  and 
hastened  out.  He  did  not  inquire  for  his  wife  to  say  good 
bye, —  in  fact,  he  had  not  mentioned  the  fact  that  he  was 
leaving  that  afternoon,  as  he  was  under  the  impression  she 
was  out  somewhere.  Mrs.  Jack  was  not  out,  but  in  her 
room.  She  saw  the  footman  take  the  hand-bag  out  to  the 
carriage,  she  waited  and  heard  her  husband  go  down  the 
stairs  quickly,  caught  the  sound  of  little  Harold's  voice,  saw 
Wilton  jump  into  the  carriage,  wave  his  hand  to  the  child, 
and  disappear  rapidly  down  the  street. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  left  the  city  without  in- 
[354] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

quiring  for  her;  once  or  twice  he  had  gone  when  she  was  out 
of  the  house,  but  he  had  always  left  some  word.  Perhaps 
he  had  this  time;  no,  she  knew  perfectly  well  he  had  not; 
he  had  tried  to  avoid  her;  for  several  days  they  had  seen 
little  of  each  other,  —  in  fact,  not  since  the  evening  she  was 
with  Delaney  in  the  park.  There  were  moments  when  she 
wondered  if  by  any  possibility  her  husband  could  have  seen 
her,  or  if  he  had  received  another  anonymous  letter.  Of  the 
two  contingencies  the  latter  seemed  far  the  more  likely; 
that  something  had  happened  was  certain.  A  feeling  of 
depression  stole  over  her  as  she  saw  the  carriage  disappear 
in  the  distance. 

Everything  had  gone  wrong  since  that  afternoon.  De 
laney  had  not  been  to  see  her;  he  had  not  even  telephoned. 
She  had  called  him  up  once  and  asked  him  to  dinner,  but  he 
pleaded  some  excuse  so  awkwardly  that  she  knew  he  did  not 
wish  to  come.  It  was  only  too  plain  he  was  trying  his  best 
to  avoid  her;  instead  of  being  angry,  as  she  would  have  been 
ten  days  before,  she  was  afraid, —  as  if  she  faced  some  im 
pending  calamity. 

She  looked  forward  to  seeing  Delaney  on  Thanksgiving 
Day;  he  was  coming  for  dinner;  the  invitation  had  been  given 
and  accepted  long  before,  and  he  had  promised  the  Major 
most  faithfully  to  dine  with  him.  It  would  be  a  family  din 
ner  at  six  o'clock,  so  little  Harold  could  be  at  the  table, — 
only  Will  Ganton  and  Delaney  besides  themselves.  She 
was  certain  he  would  not  break  his  word  to  the  Major,  how 
ever  much  he  might  wish  to  avoid  her,  so  she  waited. 

John  Wilton  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  He  did  not  under 
stand  that  Larry  Delaney  was  doing  his  best  to  keep  away 
from  his  wife;  all  he  grasped  was  that  he  had  seen  them 

[355] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

together  in  the  park  the  week  before,  and  he  assumed  that 
what  he  then  saw  was  repeated  at  every  convenient  oppor 
tunity, —  why  not  ? 

Tuesday  Will  Ganton  came  down  from  the  Yards  and 
met  Delaney  at  the  Club  at  luncheon,  and  together  they 
walked  back  to  the  latter's  office.  Union  Copper  had  been 
fairly  active  during  the  morning  and  was  steadily  advancing ; 
at  noon  it  sold  as  high  as  ninety-eight;  everybody  on  the 
Street  took  it  for  granted  dividends  would  be  resumed. 

"  What  time  is  the  meeting  ?  "  Will  asked  as  they  walked 
along  Jackson  Boulevard. 

"Twelve  o'clock  is  the  hour,  but  they  will  probably  do 
nothing  until  after  luncheon,"  Delaney  answered. 

"  You  feel  pretty  sure  about  the  dividend,  Larry  ?  "  Will's 
tone  betrayed  some  anxiety.  He  was  carrying  a  big  load; 
he  had  borrowed  every  cent  he  could  and  plunged  heavily. 
"  As  it  is,  I  stand  to  make  over  fifty  thousand  dollars ;  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  sell  and  take  my  profits." 

"  I  am  as  certain  as  a  man  can  be  who  has  the  word  of  an 
insider  who  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  Besides,  look 
at  the  stock.  It  would  not  advance  so  steadily  if  there  were 
any  doubt  about  the  matter.  I  am  taking  greater  chances 
than  you  are,  yet  I  don't  propose  to  sell.  The  stock  will  go 
to  110  easily  when  on  a  dividend  basis."  Delaney  spoke 
so  confidently  that  Will  felt  reassured;  the  disposition  to 
hang  on  and  make  just  a  little  more  is  supreme  in  the  specu 
lator's  breast. 

On  entering  the  office  they  went  at  once  to  the  ticker 
clicking  irregularly  in  the  corner;  the  tape  showed  sales  of 
Union  Copper  at  ninety-eight,  ninety-eight  and  a  quarter, 

[356] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

a  half,  five-eighths,  three-quarters,  and  a  thousand  shares 
at  ninety-nine. 

"By  Gad,  but  she  's  a-booming! "  Will  exclaimed.  "If 
I  had  the  money  to  put  up  I  'd  buy  five  hundred  shares  right 
now." 

"I  guess  they'd  carry  you  downstairs  for  five  hundred 
more  if  you  want  the  stock,"  Delaney  replied,  referring  to 
the  big  firm  of  brokers  on  the  ground  floor,  through  which  he 
did  most  of  his  New  York  business.  He  telephoned  down, 
and  after  a  moment's  delay  the  reply  came  that  they  would 
be  glad  to  execute  the  order  if  Mr.  Ganton  would  send  down 
his  note  for  five  thousand  dollars.  It  took  but  a  few  moments 
for  Will  to  sign  the  note  and  send  it  down  by  the  small  office- 
boy.  He  and  Delaney  returned  to  the  ticker,  Union  Cop 
per  had  already  touched  ninety-nine  and  a  half. 

"  You  will  be  lucky  if  you  get  that  five  hundred  under  par," 
Delaney  remarked. 

"It 's  all  right  —  it 's  a  purchase  anyway,"  Will  no  longer 
felt  doubtful  of  the  outcome,  he  was  all  excitement  as  he 
fingered  the  narrow  ribbon  of  paper  nervously.  Delaney 
himself  was  not  unmoved,  chewing  his  unlighted  cigar  to 
suppress  his  elation.  It  meant  to  him  relief  from  pressing 
obligations  and  more  than  enough  money  to  carry  him  through 
the  winter.  He  had  staked  everything  he  had,  the  little  money 
he  could  raise,  exhausting  his  credit  with  banks,  brokers,  and 
friends.  He  had  even  borrowed  money  on  securities  which 
did  not  belong  to  him, —  this  worried  him,  and  he  did  not 
like  to  think  of  it,  but  he  had  not  used  the  securities  until  he 
was  sure  he  was  taking  no  chances,  until  he  felt  absolutely 
certain  the  stock  would  go  up,  and  he  intended  to  take  them 
up  with  the  proceeds  of  the  very  first  sales  he  made.  As  he 

[357] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

watched  the  tape  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  John  Wilton 
and  feeling  grateful  for  the  tip  so  generously  given,  and  he 
was  glad  he  had  been  firm  and  had  steadfastly  kept  away 
from  Mrs.  Jack,  experiencing  the  novel  satisfaction  of  a 
man  unaccustomed  to  denying  himself  forbidden  pleasures. 
He  was  even  sorry  he  had  promised  to  dine  there  Thanks 
giving  night, —  if  it  were  n't  for  the  Major  he  would  not  go. 
He  wished  he  could  get  out  of  it  in  some  way, —  perhaps  he 
could. 

"Five  hundred  at  ninety-nine  seven- eighths, —  I  guess 
that 's  my  stock,"  Will  exclaimed,  and  Delaney,  arousing 
himself  from  his  momentary  abstraction,  again  glanced  at 
the  tape. 

"  Guess  you  're  right.  Next  sale  will  be  at  par,  and  then 
we  must  begin  to  think  about  letting  a  little  go." 

"  Not  much,"  Will  exclaimed  jubilantly,  "  I  '11  hang  on 
until  it  touches  — ' 

He  did  not  finish.  The  ticker,  which  had  been  operating 
lazily  and  intermittently,  started  suddenly  into  life,  and  the 
tape  showed  a  sale  of  Union  Copper  at  ninety-nine  and  three- 
quarters,  then  two  thousand  shares  at  ninety-nine  and  a 
half,  followed  immediately  by  sales  at  ninety-nine,  ninety- 
eight,  ninety-seven,  and  ninety-six;  when  the  stock  struck 
ninety-five  a  perfect  flood  came  onto  the  market,  and  the 
price  broke  to  the  eighties  in  a  few  minutes,  with  no  bottom 
in  sight. 

At  the  first  break  Will  Ganton  turned  to  Delaney. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Larry  ?  " 

The  latter  did  not  reply,  but  went  to  the  telephone,  called 
up  the  office  down  below,  and  asked  if  they  had  anything 
from  New  York  on  Union  Copper.  The  answer  came  back: 

[358] 


Not  much,'"  Will  exclaimed  jubilantly,  "I'll  hang  on  until  it 
touches  —  " 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

"  Just  got  a  confidential  wire  that  a  majority  of  the  direc 
tors  is  in  favor  of  passing  dividend, —  that 's  all." 

That  was  enough.  If  true,  it  meant  serious  trouble  for 
Will  Ganton ;  it  meant  ruin  and  disgrace  for  Delaney. 

"  It  can't  be  true,  Larry,  it 's  some  damned  stock-jobbing 
scheme."  Will's  face  was  flushed  with  anger;  he  felt  as  if 
some  one  were  trying  to  trick  him. 

While  they  were  speaking  there  were  sharp  calls  over  the 
telephone  for  additional  margins.  All  Delaney  could  do  was 
to  tell  the  brokers  to  close  out  his  account,  he  could  not  put 
up  another  cent.  The  active  partner  in  the  big  firm  down 
below  came  hurrying  up. 

"  They  have  passed  the  dividend,  and  the  stock  will  drop 
to  seventy  or  lower,"  he  exclaimed.  "What  shall  we  do, 
Delaney,  with  the  stock  we  are  carrying  for  you  and  Mr. 
Ganton  ?  " 

"Close  mine  out,"  Delaney  answered  calmly;  "I  have 
nothing  to  put  up." 

"  Your  margins  are  already  more  than  exhausted.  Have 
you  no  securities  that  you  can  put  up  to  protect  us  against 
loss  ? "  the  broker  asked  coldly. 

"  Nothing ;  I  have  put  up  everything  —  " 

"You  know  what  that  means?" 

"  Yes ;  I  cannot  help  it.  Close  out  the  account,  and  pro 
tect  yourself  as  best  you  can,"  Delaney  said  slowly.  He 
suddenly  remembered  the  securities  which  he  had  put  up 
and  which  did  not  belong  to  him.  "  Look  here  —  those 
bonds  I  left  with  you  last  week  —  I  wish  you  would  hang 
on  to  those  a  little  while,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  redeem 
them  in  some  way." 

The  broker  eyed  Delaney  suspiciously.  From  the  lat- 
[359] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

ter's  manner  he  more  than  half  suspected  that  the  bonds 
belonged  to  some  customer,  and  he  feared  there  might  be 
trouble  with  the  owner  if  he  held  on  to  them;  such  things 
were  not  uncommon  in  their  business. 

"Sorry,  but  I  can't  do  it.  Those  bonds  are  the  best 
collateral  you  have  with  us,  and  we  must  get  what  we  can  out 
of  them ;  we  stand  to  lose  anywhere  from  five  to  ten  thousand 
as  it  is.  It 's  hard  to  realize  on  the  stock,  now  everybody 
is  unloading.  Of  course  Mr.  Ganton  can  take  care  of  his 
trades  ?  "  The  man  looked  inquiringly  at  Will,  who  had  been 
watching  the  ticker  and  at  the  same  time  listening  to  the 
conversation  without  fully  comprehending  at  first  the  extent 
of  the  disaster;  when  asked  if  he  was  prepared  to  take  care 
of  his  trades,  his  face  again  reddened  with  anger,  he  turned 
upon  Delaney,  and  fairly  shouted: 

"  Look  here,  Delaney,  it  strikes  me  we  've  been  played 
for  suckers.  Who  gave  you  that  tip  about  the  dividend  ?  " 

Delaney  hesitated,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  mention  Wilton's 
name.  Will  Ganton  noticed  the  hesitation  and  instantly 
became  suspicious. 

"  By  Gad,  Delaney,  I  want  to  know  who  gave  out  that  tip." 

Delaney  thought  a  moment,  then  he  replied  slowly: 

"  You  have  the  right  to  know,  Will ;  it  was  John  Wilton 
himself.  The  night  we  all  dined  there  he  told  me  dividends 
would  be  resumed  at  this  meeting." 

"Wilton  told  you  that!"  the  broker  exclaimed.  "W7hy, 
our  New  York  correspondent  says  he  and  his  friends  de 
feated  the  resolution;  that  is  why  the  stock  is  dropping  out 
of  sight.  If  Wilton  is  against  a  dividend,  there  must  be 
something  wrong  with  the  company,  as  he  never  plays  the 
Street." 

[360] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

"Well,  it  was  he  who  gave  me  the  pointer,"  Delaney 
insisted. 

"That 's  mighty  queer,  for  I  cannot  see  what  reason  he 
could  have  for  wishing  to  do  up  you  and  Mr.  Ganton." 

"  He  did  n't  know  anything  about  my  being  in  the  stock," 
Will  remarked  gloomily. 

"  Oh ! "  the  broker  exclaimed  significantly,  as  if  an  idea 
had  suddenly  occurred  to  him.  He  hurried  back  to  his 
office  to  pass  the  word  around  to  buy  Union  Copper,  for 
there  was  probably  nothing  at  all  the  matter  with  the  com 
pany.  Sure  enough,  in  the  closing  half-hour  of  the  session, 
the  stock  began  to  recover  rapidly.  But  Delaney's  account, 
and  with  it  Will  Ganton's,  had  been  closed  at  almost  the 
lowest  figures  of  the  day. 

Delaney  was  too  insignificant  a  figure  in  the  great  world 
of  high  finance  for  the  announcement  of  his  failure  to  cause 
more  than  a  passing  ripple  on  the  surface;  it  was  of  greater 
moment  in  social  circles.  Bankers  and  brokers  who  were 
not  directly  involved  read  the  news  with  the  callous  indiffer 
ence  of  their  class,  though  their  wives  manifested  a  much 
more  curious  interest;  and  when  they  learned  that  John 
Wilton  had  caused  the  drop  in  Union  Copper,  this  was  more 
than  sufficient  to  set  tongues  wagging.  Even  the  Street  — 
ever  suspicious  and  never  charitable  —  began  to  suspect 
Union  Copper  had  been  used  for  a  purpose.  One  paper  in 
commenting  on  the  unexpected  action  of  the  directors  said: 

"It  is  an  open  secret  the  action  of  the  directors  was  a 
surprise  to  themselves.  A  dividend  was  confidently  expected, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  meeting  that  Wilton  announced  him 
self  as  opposed  on  the  ground,  so  it  is  stated,  the  company 

[361] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

can  use  more  working  capital  to  advantage;  but  the  published 
statement  of  the  condition  of  the  company  shows  a  large 
increase  in  the  surplus  and  ample  working  capital ;  there  are 
rumors  afloat  that  considerations  of  a  personal  nature  in 
fluenced  the  leader  of  the  majority  of  the  board." 

A  gossipy  society  weekly  contained  this  item: 

"  Since  the  duello  is  no  longer  in  vogue,  the  injured 
husband  must  get  his  revenge  in  ways  more  in  accord  with 
the  commercial  spirit  of  the  age.  Instead  of  the  sword,  the 
large  corporation  may  be  manipulated  so  as  to  humiliate 
the  hated  rival." 

It  was  not  until  he  bought  the  Chicago  papers  of  Wednes 
day  while  on  his  way  home  that  John  Wilton  learned  of 
Delaney's  disastrous  failure.  As  he  read  the  brief  mention 
in  the  news  columns  a  grim  smile  of  satisfaction  spread  over 
his  features.  He  could  not  help  exulting  over  the  downfall 
of  the  man  he  detested ;  but  when  he  read  the  more  detailed 
accounts  on  the  financial  page,  and  learned  that  Delaney  was 
thousands  of  dollars  worse  off  than  nothing,  that  he  was 
probably  involved  deeper  than  any  one  knew,  that  he  was 
utterly  ruined,  a  feeling  of  pity  stole  into  his  heart.  John 
Wilton  was  generous  to  a  fault;  never  before  had  he  deliber 
ately  set  about  to  injure  any  one.  He  began  to  feel  ashamed 
of  himself;  he  dropped  the  papers  on  his  lap  and  sat  gazing 
out  of  the  window  upon  the  fields  as  they  went  scurrying  by 
in  their  light  mantle  of  freshly  fallen  snow.  Was  it  worth 
while,  he  kept  asking  himself, —  was  it  worth  while  to  wreak 
his  vengeance  in  that  way, to  jeopardize  the  interests  and  repu 
tation  of  a  great  company  to  crush  a  man  he  did  not  like? 
Was  it  a  manly  and  decent  thing  to  do  ?  That  troubled  him, 
and  he  began  to  drop  in  his  own  estimation.  His  revenge  no 

[362] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

longer  gave  him  any  satisfaction ;  the  more  he  thought  about 
it  the  less  he  liked  it.  Later,  when  the  waiter  came  along 
and  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  compartment  to  ask  if  he  was 
not  going  in  to  luncheon,  he  said  no;  he  did  not  care  for 
anything  to  eat.  All  the  afternoon,  until  the  train  pulled 
into  the  dingy  station  in  Chicago,  he  sat  looking  moodily  out 
of  the  window. 

All  day  Wednesday  Delaney  did  the  best  he  could  to  aid 
the  brokers  and  bankers  in  straightening  out  his  affairs;  not 
that  they  were  very  complicated,  but  he  was  indebted  in  so 
many  directions.  He  worked  so  steadfastly  and  so  quietly, 
and  seemed  so  desirous  of  helping  all  he  could,  that  more  than 
one  man  expressed  sympathy  for  him. 

"Better  luck  next  time,  Larry,"  said  one  of  his  friends. 

"There  will  be  no  'next  time,'  my  boy;  this  is  my  last," 
Delaney  answered  with  a  queer  smile.  He  knew  it  would  be 
only  a  day  or  two  before  the  owners  of  the  securities  he  had 
hypothecated  would  discover  what  he  had  done,  and  that 
meant  —  he  did  not  like  to  think  of  the  consequences,  but 
he  knew  that  to  remain  in  Chicago  meant  arrest  and  prosecu 
tion.  He  had  done  many  things  in  a  business  way  which 
were  not  right,  but  never  before  had  he  taken  and  used  what 
belonged  to  others ;  never  before  had  he  placed  himself  where 
he  could  be  classed  with  common  thieves  and  embezzlers. 
He  wondered  what  some  of  his  friends  would  say,  what 
Carrie  Trelway  would  say,  what  May  Keating  would  think, 
how  Mrs.  Jack  would  feel.  Strange  to  say,  he  felt  more  con 
fidence  in  the  charity  of  the  two  former  than  in  Mrs.  Jack's ; 
her  pride  would  be  offended,  her  own  selfish  considerations 
would  more  than  counterbalance  any  feeling  for  him.  And 

[363] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

there  was  the  Major, —  some  day  he  would  understand. 
The  thought  of  the  Major  brought  a  lump  into  Delaney's 
throat. 

A  few  of  his  creditors  met  on  Thanksgiving  morning  and 
spent  an  hour  and  a  half  in  going  over  his  books  and  papers. 
There  were  not  many  to  go  over;  he  kept  his  accounts  in  one 
small  ledger,  in  such  a  manner  that  only  he  could  supply  the 
key,  and  most  of  his  papers  were  locked  up  in  the  safety- 
deposit  vault  in  the  basement.  As  the  vault  was  not  open 
that  day,  it  was  agreed  they  should  all  meet  the  next  morning 
at  ten  o'clock  to  make  up  a  final  inventory  and  statement. 

Delaney  took  luncheon  at  an  obscure  eating-house  in 
Fifth  Avenue.  He  went  there  because  he  felt  certain  he 
would  not  meet  a  soul  he  knew,  but  he  was  mistaken.  The 
girl  who  served  his  coffee,  rolls,  and  cold  tongue  recognized 
him.  She  had  once  worked  at  the  Wiltons',  and  everybody 
who  worked  there  liked  Delaney  with  that  curious  devotion 
which  the  servant  ever  displays  toward  the  generous  friend 
of  the  mistress. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Delaney,  what  are  you  doing  here  on  Thanks 
giving  Day  ?  "  she  asked  as  he  took  his  seat  on  one  of  the 
high  stools  ranged  along  the  moist  and  shiny  counter. 

He  looked  up  surprised,  and  for  a  moment  could  not  recall 
where  he  had  seen  the  girl.  When  he  remembered,  he 
replied  with  a  friendly  smile: 

"  I  did  not  suppose  any  one  here  would  know  me.  I  have 
been  working  all  the  morning,  and  just  stepped  around  for  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  bite  to  eat." 

"  Well,  I  never  expected  to  see  you  at  a  ten-cent  lunch- 
counter,"  the  girl  laughed  as  she  filled  his  order;  "and  of  all 
days ! " 

[364] 


Delaney 's  Last  Play 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time,  Katy." 

"Not  but  what  the  things  to  eat  are  good  enough,"  she 
exclaimed  with  a  show  of  pride  in  her  occupation,  "but 
somehow  it  seems  queer  to  see  you  sitting  there  and  eating 
just  like  —  just  like  —  She  did  not  know  how  to  express 
herself  without  offending. 

Delaney  laughed, —  the  first  time  he  had  laughed  that 
day,  —  and  felt  grateful  to  the  girl  for  pulling  him  out 
of  himself. 

"  Just  like  an  ordinary,  every-day  man,  you  meant  to  say, 
Katy?"  The  girl  nodded  her  head.  "  Well,  that  is  all  I  am 
—  to-day.  To-morrow,"  his  voice  dropped,  "I  may  be 
something  more." 

"  You  ought  to  marry  and  have  a  home  of  your  own,  Mr. 
Delaney,"  the  girl  said  in  a  tone  of  firm  conviction  as  she 
gave  him  another  little  square  pat  of  suspiciously  yellow 
butter. 

"  Marriage  is  a  lottery,  you  know,"  he  answered  smiling. 

"  It 's  no  more  of  a  lottery  than  speculation.  Men  come 
in  here  every  day  who  lost  everything  they  had  on  the  Board 
of  Trade.  They  lunch  at  the  Club  as  long  as  they  can  afford 
it,  then  they  drop  down  here.  Oh,  I  see  and  hear  a  lot  of 
things." 

Delaney  glanced  up  suspiciously,  wondering  if  the  girl 
had  heard  of  his  failure.  No ;  she  had  not,  as  was  apparent 
from  her  unconscious  manner.  But  if  he  came  once  or  twice 
more  she  would  suspect  the  truth  and  learn  all  about  him. 

When  he  had  paid  the  quarter  for  his  meagre  luncheon 
he  left  a  five-dollar  bill  on  the  counter,  remarking,  "  For  the 
sake  of  —  old  times,  Katy,"  and  passed  out. 

The  girl  stood  with  a  towel  in  one  hand  and  the  empty 
[365] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

coffee-cup  in  the  other,  too  dazed  to  say  a  word;  but  as  he 
disappeared  down  the  street  she  exclaimed  to  herself,  "  Well, 
I  never!  That 's  just  like  him.  There  's  something  wrong, 
or  he  would  never  have  given  me  that  fiver." 

Delaney  walked  slowly  east  in  Adams  Street.  At  the 
corner  of  La  Salle  he  stopped  and  waited  for  a  carette.  The 
street  was  nearly  deserted.  The  air  was  chill,  the  sky  gray, 
and  there  was  a  swirl  of  snow  which  blew  hither  and  thither 
about  the  great,  tall,  grimy  buildings.  It  was  certainly  not 
a  bright  and  cheerful  Thanksgiving  Day.  As  the  carette 
came  lumbering  along,  Delaney  took  a  last  look  at  the  Board 
of  Trade  at  the  head  of  the  street.  How  sinister  and  for 
bidding  it  seemed  at  the  moment !  —  even  less  inviting 
than  the  great  county  jail  on  the  North  Side.  How  many 
men  had  been  ruined  within  those  gray  stone  walls ! —  more 
than  any  one  knew,  more  than  any  one  could  ever  find  out, 
men  and  women  all  over  the  country,  in  every  city  and  vil 
lage,  even  in  regions  remote,  from  bankers  and  brokers  to 
drovers  and  farmers  and  small  merchants,  clerks  and  em 
ployees,  ruined  directly  or  indirectly  by  what  was  done 
within  those  four  walls. 

Silent  and  deserted  for  the  time  being,  on  the  morrow  it 
would  awaken  to  life,  and  the  great  room,  with  its  many  pits, 
its  hundreds  of  telegraph  instruments,  its  hurrying  messen 
ger  boys,  its  crowd  of  excited  traders,  would  resound  with 
the  hoarse  cries  of  speculation,  but  he  would  not  be  there; 
for  him  the  Board  would  remain  forever  silent  and  closed, 
even  as  —  the  carette  rolled  noisily  past  the  corner,  and  the 
Board  passed  out  of  sight. 

Delaney  found  at  his  rooms  two  notes,  one  from  Mrs. 
Jack,  in  which  she  said  briefly  they  would  surely  expect  him 

[366] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

for  dinner  at  half-past  six  instead  of  six,  and  would  wait  for 
him  if  he  were  late.     Evidently  she  knew  nothing  about  her 
husband's  connection  with  his  losses  and  failure,  otherwise 
she  would  realize  that  he  could  not  dine  with  them. 
The  other  note  read  as  follows : 

"  MY  DEAR  LARRY: —  It  is  too  bad,  and  I  am  so  sorry  for 
you.  If  I  had  any  money  I  would  give  it  to  you  to  help  you 
out;  but  I  am  poorer  than  you  are,  since  I  am  a  woman  — 
and  that  is  a  deficit  to  begin  with.  As  it  is,  all  I  can  offer  is 
my  heartfelt  sympathy;  if  this  could  be  distributed  among 
your  creditors  it  would  be  more  than  enough  to  pay  them  in 
full.  Of  course  you  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end ;  mean 
while  I  know  how  you  must  feel ,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that 
you  have  friends  who  stand  by  you  and  sympathize  with  you. 

"Now  don't  shut  yourself  up  and  get  moody,  but  make  the 
best  of  the  situation.  Do  not  fail  to  dine  with  us  to-night. 
We  shall  expect  you,  and  I,  for  one,  shall  eat  no  dinner  until 
you  come, —  there!  "Sincerely, 

"  MAY  K." 

Delaney's  eyes  were  moist  when  he  finished  reading  the 
note;  he  read  it  once  again,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips  almost 
reverentially  before  going  to  the  fireplace  to  tear  paper  and 
envelope  in  small  pieces  and  cast  them  into  the  grate. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  going  through  trunks  and  boxes 
and  drawers,  searching  out  cards  and  notes  and  letters, 
photographs  and  little  souvenirs  of  every  kind  which  could 
in  any  way  betray  his  friends  if  they  fell  into  strange  hands. 
It  was  a  long  task.  He  was  surprised  himself  at  the  accu 
mulation  of  years.  It  had  never  been  his  habit  to  keep  evi 
dences  of  the  imprudences  and  follies  of  others,  and  yet  there 
were  notes  and  letters  he  ought  to  have  destroyed  long  ago, 

[367] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

and  many  he  thought  he  had  destroyed.  Some  of  the  letters 
he  threw  into  the  fire  with  careless  indifference,  others  he 
read,  many  of  them  for  a  second  or  third  or  fourth  time, 
before  he  dropped  them  into  the  flames,  reading  them  with 
all  the  wistful  yearning  for  the  past  that  creeps  over  a  man 
when  he  recalls  happy  hours  forever  spent,  faces  and  places 
never  to  be  seen  again  under  the  same  delightful  conditions. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  reviewing  his  life.  When 
he  threw  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  a  panorama  of 
scenes  and  events  and  persons  passed  rapidly  before  his 
inner  vision;  so  slight  a  thing  as  a  bit  of  faded  blue  ribbon 
sufficed  to  recall  a  ball  he  had  long  forgotten,  a  ball  in  one  of 
the  great  houses  of  New  York  that  he  had  attended  the  first 
year  out  of  college,  when  friends  were  many  and  life  was 
promising;  the  crush  and  the  jam,  the  sea  of  faces,  the  whirl 
of  the  dancers,  the  music, —  all  was  vague  and  indistinct, 
save  a  corner,  a  window-seat,  some  protecting  portieres,  a 
fair  young  face  with  blue  eyes,  a  white  dress,  and  —  a  bit 
of  blue  ribbon.  How  they  had  danced  and  danced  until 
intoxicated  with  the  music,  aglow  with  the  excitement  of  the 
occasion,  made  mad  by  the  spirit  of  the  hour,  he  had  talked  of 
love,  and  she  had  listened,  and  for  the  time  being  everything 
seemed  so  easy  of  fulfilment ;  but  of  that  evening  with  all  its 
music  and  intoxication,  with  all  its  passionate  avowals  and 
tender  responses,  there  remained  —  only  a  bit  of  faded  blue 
ribbon.  How  much  better  it  would  have  been  for  him,  per 
haps  for  her,  if  the  tie  had  been  just  a  little  stronger ! 

Again  the  fragment  of  a  card,  which  bore  in  pencil  the 
one  word  "Yes,"  written  hastily,  impulsively,  served  as  a 
key  to  release  a  flood  of  vivid  recollections,  —  recollections 
far  different  from  those  aroused  by  the  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  a 

[368] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

winter's  folly,   a  woman's   devotion,  jealousy  and  hatred, 
his  own  cynical  indifference, —  how  strange  it  all  seemed ! 

There  was  one  packet  of  letters,  most  of  which  bore 
foreign  postmarks ;  these  he  had  carefully  kept  under  double 
lock  and  key, —  not  that  it  ever  afforded  him  any  pleasure  to 
read  them,  but  with  the  notion  that  some  day  they  might 
prove  of  use  to  him.  As  he  cut  the  cord  that  bound  them 
together  and  looked  at  them  one  by  one,  a  bitter  smile  crept 
into  his  face;  she  was  the  one  woman  he  had  loved,  blindly, 
madly,  passionately  —  and  she  had  wrecked  his  life.  For 
her  he  had  done  things  which  caused  men  to  look  upon  him 
with  suspicion,  things  for  which  he  despised  himself;  with 
her  he  had  lived  in  a  fool's  paradise  for  a  time,  spending  all 
he  had  and  more  than  he  could  make  fairly  and  honestly; 
for  her  he  had  thrown  over  friends  and  destroyed  every 
prospect  in  life.  In  the  end,  after  he  had  given  her  not  only 
his  name,  but  had  squandered  the  present  and  discounted 
the  future,  she  had  left  him  with  the  same  heartless  indiffer 
ence  he  had  left  others;  had  gone  to  live  abroad  how  and 
with  whom  he  did  not  know  and  did  not  dare  to  guess,  and 
all  that  remained  was  this  packet  of  letters.  If  he  had  only 
married  the  bit  of  blue  ribbon,  how  much  better!  It  would 
have  taken  so  very  little  to  make  of  him  a  different  man 

It  was  after  six  o'clock  when  Delaney  finished  going 
through  his  desk,  his  trunks,  and  every  nook  and  corner 
where  by  any  possibility  anything  of  a  personal  nature 
might  be  found.  He  even  tore  out  the  fly-leaves  of  a  number 
of  books  which  had  been  given  him.  He  did  not  wish  to 
leave  behind  so  much  as  the  scratch  of  a  pencil  which  might 
involve  a  friend. 

[369] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

When  the  last  scrap  of  paper  was  destroyed,  he  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  out  upon  the  street  below.  There 
was  still  snow  in  the  air,  and  the  walks  and  pavement  were 
white.  A  cab  went  by,  jolting  over  the  rotten  and  rough 
round  block  pavement.  Some  one  hurrying  for  dinner,  he 
thought  to  himself. 

It  so  happened  the  man  in  the  cab,  hurrying  north,  was 
Will  Ganton  on  his  way  to  dine  at  the  Wiltons'.  Afterward 
he  remembered  glancing  up  at  his  friend's  rooms,  and  re 
called  that  he  saw  no  light  in  the  windows. 

There  was  not  a  soul  in  the  house.  The  people  on  the 
first  floor  were  away  for  the  day;  the  maid  wrho  looked  after 
his  rooms  had  gone  out;  and  he  was  alone. 

He  heard  the  clock  in  the  room  below  chime  the  half- 
hour, —  it  was  half-past  six.  At  that  moment  they  were 
expecting  him  at  the  Wiltons'  —  Mrs.  Jack,  May,  and  the 
Major.  Yes,  the  Major  would  wonder  and  ask  why  he  did 
not  come;  the  Major  would  miss  him,  even  if  no  one  else 
did.  Delaney  pulled  away  at  his  moustache  as  he  thought 
of  the  little  fellow  he  would  never  see  again.  "It 's  all  right, 
Major,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "it 's  all  right.  You  and  I 
part  friends  now,  but  some  day  you  would  have  learned  to 
hate  me.  It  is  a  good  deal  better  as  it  is."  He  wished  he 
had  sent  the  little  fellow  a  box  of  candy,  and  felt  irritated  to 
think  he  had  not.  "Yes;  I  'm  a  brute,  Major;  I  forgot  all 
about  it, —  just  a  selfish  brute,  thinking  all  day  long  about 
my  own  affairs,  as  if  they  were  worth  thinking  about." 

He  was  still  standing  by  the  window  looking  out,  but  he 
no  longer  saw  the  street  or  the  snow -covered  pavement,  or 
the  flickering  light  of  the  street-lamp  opposite;  he  saw  the 

[370] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

great  dining-room  in  the  Wilton  mansion,  with  its  fine  white 
napery,  extravagantly  decorated  china,  and  profusion  of 
silver  and  gold.  How  well  he  knew  that  table  and  every 
feature  of  the  costly  service!  There  was  Wilton  at  one  end 
and  Mrs.  Jack  at  the  other;  May  Keating  and  Will  Ganton 
on  one  side,  the  Major  and  his  vacant  chair  on  the  other. 
They  were  waiting  for  him,  —  of  that  he  felt  quite  sure.  John 
Wilton  alone  would  understand  his  absence.  He  would 
not  expect  him  under  the  circumstances,  but  he  could  hardly 
explain  matters  to  the  others,  therefore  they  would  wait  — 
how  long?  That  would  depend  upon  the  hold  he  still  re 
tained  upon  their  friendship;  the  Major  at  all  events  would 
not  want  to  begin  without  him.  He  should  have  sent  word 
he  could  not  come;  that  would  have  been  the  right  thing 
to  do. 

It  must  be  nearly  seven  now;  they  would  not  wait  much 
longer. 

He  turned  from  the  window,  went  quickly  to  the  bureau 
in  his  bedroom,  and  from  the  small  top  drawer  on  the  left- 
hand  side,  near  his  bed,  took  out  a  revolver;  returning,  he 
held  it  down  and  examined  it  carefully  by  the  flickering 
light  of  the  fire,  to  make  sure  it  was  loaded.  Seating  himself 
in  his  easy-chair  by  the  table,  he  threw  his  head  back, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  raised  his  hand,  placed 
the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  against  his  temple,  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  flash  that  seemed  to  light  up  everything,  a 
crash  like  a  thousand  peals  of  thunder  rolled  into  one, 
a  thud,  a  blow  that  caused  every  fibre  of  his  being  to  vibrate; 
but  there  was  no  pain.  For  an  instant  every  faculty  seemed 

[371] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

alive;  strange  memories  poured  in  upon  him,  scenes  of  his 
childhood  long  forgotten  swept  before  him;  his  home,  his 
mother,  the  town  in  which  he  was  born  and  where  he  spent 
his  boyhood  days,  the  face  of  every  playmate,  school  days, 
and  college  days,  —  all  came  back  to  him  as  vividly  as  the 
details  of  a  scene  start  out  of  the  blackness  of  night  under  a 
flash  of  lightning.  For  the  time  being  his  mind  was  aroused 
to  a  state  of  abnormal  excitement;  it  was  as  if  a  piece  of 
delicate  mechanism  had  received  a  rude  shock  which  caused 
every  part  to  tremble  and  oscillate  to  the  verge  of  destruc 
tion  ;  cells  and  fibres  long  disused  thrilled  into  life.  He  knew 
what  he  had  done,  he  knew  he  had  tried  to  kill  himself; 
he  remembered  seating  himself  in  the  chair  and  throwing 
his  head  back  on  the  cushion,  just  as  he  had  done  thousands 
of  times  before  when  he  wished  to  think  and  dream;  he 
remembered  placing  the  pistol  against  the  side  of  his  head 
and  pulling  the  trigger;  then,  instead  of  death  and  darkness 
and  instant  annihilation,  life  and  light  intense.  He  had 
failed  in  his  attempt;  they  would  find  him  wounded  and 
mutilated;  the  surgeons  would  work  over  him  to  preserve 
the  life  he  valued  so  lightly, —  how  ridiculous!  Still  he 
must  try  again ;  but  the  thought  produced  no  movement,  no 
sensation  of  action.  It  was  as  if  he  were  detached  from  his 
body;  as  if  he  were  far  removed  from  things  physical,  as  if  he 
were  at  the  same  time  within  and  without  the  room,  within 
and  without  the  world  itself.  Time  itself  seemed  strangely 
condensed,  the  scenes  of  his  life  did  not  pass  before  him  in 
sequence,  in  chronological  order,  but  as  an  entirety,  as  if 
childhood  and  boyhood  and  manhood  were  one,  as  if  their 
apparent  separation  were  only  a  freak  of  the  imagination 
or  a  trick  of  memory.  .  .  . 

[372] 


Delaney's  Last  Play 

The  world  of  appearances  faded  away;  faces  grew  dim 
and  recollections  vague  and  shadowy;  the  startled  cells  and 
fibres  of  the  brain  sank  to  rest,  and  all  was  —  peace. 

When  they  found  his  body  the  next  morning  his  brains 
were  oozing  from  a  jagged  hole  in  the  right  temple;  death 
had  been  instantaneous  —  the  doctor  said. 


[373] 


CHAPTER   XXII 

OUT  OF  THE  YARDS 

SATURDAY  morning  Will  Ganton  told  his  father  about 
his  losses  in  the  market.      He  could  not  postpone  the 
disagreeable  interview  longer,  as  the  banks  and  brokers 
were  pressing  him  for  a  settlement.     It  was  not  that  they 
doubted  his  ability  to  make  good  any  losses,  but  the  un 
pleasant  disclosures  which  followed  Delaney's  death  made 
every  one  in  the  Street  suspicious  concerning  trades  with 
which  the  latter  had  anything  to  do. 

The  old  man  was  propped  up  in  bed,  reading  the  morn 
ing  paper,  when  Will  entered  the  room. 

"So  that  Delaney  was  no  better  than  a  common  thief. 
He  used  his  customers'  securities  to  raise  money."  John 
Ganton  took  a  savage  satisfaction  in  reading  the  exposure  of 
Delaney's  affairs.  He  had  never  liked  him,  looking  upon 
him  as  a  "  club  fellow  "  and  a  society  chum  of  Will's,  whose 
influence  was  anything  but  good. 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  I  came  in  to  talk  about," 
W7ill  said  hesitatingly;  he  hardly  knew  how  to  begin. 

"Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  The  old  man  dropped  the  paper  on 
the  bed  and  looked  up  suspiciously.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  are  involved  in  that  rascal's  affairs,"  he  continued 
harshly,  half  divining  the  truth  from  his  son's  expression. 

"Yes;  I  am,"  Will  blurted  out,  "I  bought  Union  Copper 
when  he  did,  and  stand  to  lose  over  forty  thousand  dollars." 
There  was  a  look  of  dogged  defiance  in  his  eyes. 

[374] 


Out  of  the  Yards 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  silence  was  ominous;  John 
Ganton's  gray  eyes  half  closed  and  his  jaws  set  so  tightly 
that  Will  could  hear  the  teeth  grind  together. 

"  So,"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  "  you  have  been  speculating 
again." 

"  I  needed  the  money."  Will's  tone  expressed  the  dogged 
defiance  that  was  in  his  look. 

"To  get  married,  I  suppose;  to  marry  that  girl."  The 
old  man's  voice  expressed  his  bitterness  and  hatred.  "  Well, 
you  have  n't  got  it,  and  you  are  forty  thousand  dollars  worse 
off  than  nothing.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"Raise  the  money  in  some  way  and  make  good  what  I 
owe."  The  young  man  was  getting  angry,  and  his  manner 
showed  it. 

"  Then  go  out  and  raise  it, —  what  are  you  bothering  me 
for  ?  I  told  you  if  you  speculated  again  not  to  run  to  me  for 
help.  Go  tell  that  girl  you  are  forty  thousand  dollars  worse 
off  than  nothing,  and  see  if  she  will  be  so  anxious  to  marry 
you.  What  do  you  suppose  she  cares  for  you  ?  "  the  old  man 
continued  hoarsely, —  "what  do  you  suppose  she  cares  for 
you  ?  It 's  my  money  she 's  after, —  I  know  the  breed. 
But  she  won't  get  a  cent, —  not  a  red  cent." 

Will's  face  was  flushed  and  ugly. 

"  I  'm  not  asking  you  for  money ;  and  I  don't  want  to 
hear  anything  more  against  that  girl.  She  's  as  good  as  we 
are,  and  a  damned  sight  better.  Because  Jem  Keating  got 
the  better  of  you  in  a  deal  you  are  down  on  him.  I  don't 
want  your  money,  and  you  can  take  it  and  go  to  —  "  the 
last  word  died  on  his  lips;  angry  as  he  was,  reckless  as  he 
always  was  when  angry,  there  was  something  in  the  deathly 
look  of  his  father  that  brought  him  to  his  senses  just  in  time. 

[375] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

A  spasm  of  pain  seized  the  old  man.  He  dropped  back 
on  the  pillows,  great  beads  of  sweat  starting  out  on  his  fore 
head,  his  features  writhing  in  anguish  as  he  clutched  at  his 
right  side  with  both  hands  and  groaned  deeply. 

In  an  instant  Will's  anger  evaporated;  he  rushed  to  the 
bedside  exclaiming: 

"What  is  it,  father?  What  can  I  do?  Shall  I  call 
mother  ?  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  as  the  pain  subsided  he 
collapsed  limp  and  exhausted.  His  skin,  even  to  his  hands, 
was  moist  with  perspiration.  Slowly  and  almost  mechani 
cally  he  mopped  his  forehead  with  the  handkerchief  that 
lay  on  the  coverlet.  His  hand  wras  so  thin  and  his  move 
ments  so  feeble  that  Will's  heart  was  filled  with  pity, —  he 
would  have  given  anything  to  recall  his  bitter  words,  but  it 
was  too  late.  John  Ganton  had  heard  them,  even  in  the 
midst  of  his  pain  he  caught  the  significance  of  every  syllable, 
and  he  did  not  forget.  He  wras  vindictive;  he  never  forgot, 
he  never  forgave.  For  a  time  he  was  too  exhausted  to  say 
anything,  making  no  response  in  any  way  to  Will's  overtures 
of  sympathy  and  affection;  as  he  recovered  his  strength  his 
face  assumed  the  hard,  relentless  expression  Will  knew  so 
wel),  and  when  he  did  speak,  slowly  and  with  an  effort,  all 
he  said  wras;  "You  have  some  stock  in  Ganton  &  Co.  I 
will  buy  it.  Take  it  to  Browning.  He  will  give  you  a  check 
*Ms  morning,  then  you  are  —  free  to  do  as  you  please." 

"  But,  father  —  This  time  there  was  a  ring  of  anguish 
in  the  young  man's  voice. 

"That's  all,"  the  old  man  interrupted  relentlessly. 
"Take  the  stock  to  Browning  this  morning,  and  then  leave 
the  Yards."  John  Ganton's  voice  rose  as  he  uttered  the 

[376] 


Out  of  the  Yards 

last  words,  he  turned  on  his  left  side  with  his  face  to  the  wall, 
and  closed  his  eyes  as  if  he  wished  to  sleep.  The  interview 
was  at  an  end;  so  far  as  his  father  was  concerned,  Will  Gan- 
ton  felt  his  own  future  was  irrevocably  determined. 

That  morning  he  indorsed  his  certificates  of  stock  in 
blank  and  delivered  them  to  Browning,  went  out  to  the 
Yards,  cleared  up  his  desk,  and  when  he  closed  it  at  six 
o'clock  he  was  no  longer  in  the  employ  of  Ganton  &  Co. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  Yards  he  met  McCarthy  near  the 
gates;  they  walked  along  together. 

"  How  is  the  governor  ?  "  McCarthy  asked. 

"Pretty  bad,  McCarthy;  he  is  a  sick  man,  and  no  mis 
take." 

"  That 's  bad,  the  business  will  miss  him.  He  knows  it 
from  the  ground  up,  that 's  sure.  I  suppose  you  '11  be  taking 
his  place  down  town  soon?" 

"No;  I'm  out,"  Will  answered  abruptly.  McCarthy 
looked  up  as  if  he  did  not  quite  understand. 

"Yes;  I  'm  out,  McCarthy,"  the  young  man  continued, 
with  as  much  indifference  as  he  could  assume.  "  This  is  my 
last  day  in  the  Yards  with  Ganton  &  Co.  The  governor 
and  I  have  split." 

"Well,  I  '11  be "  McCarthy  exclaimed.  "You  don't 

mean  to  say  you  've  quit  the  job  for  good  ?  " 

"  That 's  about  the  size  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  -  -  "  The  old  foreman  could  not  finish 
his  exclamation.  Words  failed  him, —  that  Will  Ganton 
should  leave  the  Yards, —  should  leave  Ganton  &  Co., — 
if  he  had  been  discharged  himself  he  could  not  have  been 
more  dumfounded. 

As  Will  swung  upon  the  step  of  a  moving  car  and  shouted 
[377] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

good-bye,  McCarthy  still  stood  at  the  corner  muttering  to 

himself,  "  Well,  I  '11  be "  When  the  news  spread  among 

the  men  they  were  sorry, —  even  the  strikers  who  had  suffered 
at  Will's  hands  were  sorry, —  they  all  liked  him,  liked  him 
for  the  brute-like  strength  and  qualities  that  made  him 
feared.  More  than  one  man  remarked,  "  He  's  a  chip  of  the 
old  block;  that 's  why  they  can't  get  on  together." 

Will  did  not  go  home  that  night ;  he  felt  a  good  deal  as  if 
he  had  no  home;  he  had  been  told  he  was  free  to  do  as  he 
pleased, —  in  other  words,  that  he  might  shift  for  himself. 
What  right  had  he  to  live  under  his  father's  roof  and  sit  at 
his  table  ?  His  reflections  were  many  and  bitter. 

All  day  Sunday  he  sat  about  the  Club  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  what  he  should  say  to  May  Keating.  There  was 
but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it; 
yet  how  could  he  tell  her  all  the  brutal  truth  ?  How  could  he 
explain  to  her  the  reason  why  he  and  his  father  had  parted 
in  such  anger  ?  But  she  would  suspect  the  truth ;  she  would 
know  it  was  on  her  account ;  there  would  be  no  use  in  trying 
to  conceal  anything  from  her. 

From  time  to  time  he  ordered  a  Scotch-and-soda  to  brace 
him  up,  until,  when  night  came,  he  felt  and  showed  slightly 
the  effect  of  the  whiskey  he  had  taken  so  steadily  during  the 
day. 

When  he  entered  the  Wilton  reception-room  his  face  was 
somewhat  flushed,  and  he  had  the  coarse  look  that  May 
Keating  had  seen  before  and  disliked  so  much.  She  recalled 
a  saying  of  Delaney's,  "  Never  marry  a  man  until  you  have 
seen  him  drunk." 

Mrs.  Jack  did  not  come  down.  She  had  kept  her  room 
most  of  the  time  since  Delaney  shot  himself.  She  could  not 

[378] 


Out  of  the  Yards 

get  over  the  tragic  death  and  the  disclosures  which  followed ; 
that  it  should  turn  out  the  man  she  had  encouraged  was  a 
criminal,  that  in  all  likelihood  he  was  married  and  no  better 
than  an  adventurer,  living  on  his  wits,  humiliated  her.  She 
did  not  care  so  much  about  his  death, —  that  was  the  best 
thing  he  could  have  done;  she  did  not  care  very  much  about 
him;  she  did  care  about  herself.  She  had  the  unpleas 
ant  feeling  that  every  woman  she  knew  was  gloating  over 
her  humiliation,  that  people  were  saying  the  most  outrageous 
things  about  her  and  Delaney.  Thank  goodness,  not  a  letter, 
not  so  much  as  a  scrap  of  paper,  had  been  found.  She  was 
wild  with  apprehension  until  Wilton  himself  made  discreet 
inquiries,  and  learned  that  Delaney  must  have  spent  most 
of  Thanksgiving  afternoon  destroying  letters,  photographs, 
and  papers,  the  charred  fragments  of  which  filled  the  grate. 

"  The  fellow  had  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  anyway," 
Wilton  said  to  himself,  and  he  could  not  help  adding,  "Poor 
devil!  I  wish  I  had  kept  out  of  it." 

When  he  told  his  wife  that  no  letters  or  notes  of  a  personal 
nature  had  been  found,  she  exclaimed  hysterically: 

"  There  was  nothing,  Jack, —  nothing  —  I  never  wrote 
him  a  line  you  could  not  see.  .  .  .  Don't  you  believe  me, 
Jack?" 

He  chewed  away  at  the  end  of  his  moustache  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  without  replying. 

She  sank  down  onto  the  sofa,  sobbing  convulsively;  she 
did  not  care  whether  he  believed  her  or  not, —  it  did  not 
matter  so  long  as  every  note  and  letter  had  been  destroyed. 

When  Will  Ganton  entered  the  room,  May  Keating  felt 
sure  something  unusual  had  happened ;  never  before  had  he 
come  to  see  her  after  he  had  been  drinking  to  such  a  percep- 

[379] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

tible  extent;  instinctively  she  knew  he  had  been  trying  to 
nerve  himself  to  tell  her  something  he  was  afraid  to  tell.  As 
he  sat  there  nervously  twisting  the  fringe  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair,  he  looked  so  dull,  heavy,  and  stupid,  so  coarse  and 
common,  that  a  feeling  of  disgust,  mingled  with  profound 
pity,  came  over  her;  surely  he  had  never  appeared  quite  like 
that  before.  Yes;  she  remembered  that  the  night  at  the 
Club  when  he  drank  too  much  wine  he  had  looked  much  the 
same,  only  that  night  he  was  boisterous,  while  now  he  sat 
there  like  a  clumsy  lout.  She  began  to  be  angry  with  herself 
and  with  him ;  could  it  be  possible  that  she  had  ever  promised 
to  marry  such  a  man  ?  And  yet  —  there  was  so  much  that 
was  worth  saving  in  him,  if  his  father  could  only  see  how 
little  encouragement  it  would  take. 

She  waited.  He  had  attempted  some  commonplace  re 
mark,  but  she  did  not  respond,  she  waited. 

"  I  've  got  something  to  tell  you,  May,"  he  said  at  length, 
hoarsely. 

"I  thought  so,"  she  responded  quietly,  almost  indiffer 
ently;  "what  is  it?" 

"  I  'm  out  of  the  Yards."  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
floor  and  tugged  away  at  the  fringe  on  the  chair. 

"  Out  of  the  Yards ! "  she  repeated  with  a  start.  "  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"  That 's  just  what  I  mean, —  out  for  good.  I  quit 
Ganton  &  Co.  to-day, —  must  shift  for  myself.  You  might 
as  well  know  the  worst,  May."  The  words  came  slowly,  and 
his  voice  was  just  a  little  thick.  He  did  not  lift  his  eyes  from 
the  floor,  he  was  afraid  of  her. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  or  two,  her  lip  curling  slightly 
as  if  in  contempt. 

[380] 


Out  of  the  Yards 

"  You  have  had  another  quarrel  with  your  father  ?  " 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  Was  it  on  my  account  ?  Tell 
me!  "  she  said  sharply. 

"No;  it  was  n't  about  you  this  time,  May,"  he  answered 
hurriedly,  "  that  is  —  not  entirely.  It  was  mostly  some 
thing  else.  You  see  I  had  been  speculating  a  little.  I 
bought  Union  Copper  along  with  Delaney,  and  when  they 
passed  the  dividend  and  the  stock  went  down  I  stood  to  lose 
a  good  deal.  To  pay  up  I  had  to  sell  my  stock  in  Ganton 
&  Co.,  and  —  well,  the  governor  dropped  me  out  of  the 
Yards.  That 's  all  there  is  about  it." 

From  his  manner  May  Keating  knew  he  had  not  told  her 
all  the  truth,  but  she  had  heard  enough.  He  had  been 
thrown  out  of  the  business  and  was  practically  penniless; 
his  father  would  probably  provide  a  place  for  him,  but  not 
so  long  as  he  persisted  in  his  intention  of  marrying  her.  The 
relentless  old  man  was  bound  to  break  that  match,  even 
though  in  doing  so  he  wrecked  his  son's  future.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  known  that  John  Ganton  was  op 
posed  to  Will's  marrying  her  because  she  was  the  daughter 
of  Jem  Keating,  she  began  to  feel  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
attempting  to  oppose  his  iron  will.  For  that  matter,  was  it 
worth  while  to  struggle,  she  asked  herself,  as  she  looked  at 
the  coarse  figure  and  flushed  face  opposite  her;  there  was 
something  of  the  father  there,  all  the  brute  element,  but  little 
of  that  force  which  made  John  Ganton  respected  and  feared 
by  friends  and  foes  alike.  No;  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
hazard  her  own  happiness  and  wreck  his  future  by  blindly 
fighting  fate;  the  matter  was  hardly  debatable  now  he  was 
in  no  position  to  maintain  a  home.  In  a  day  or  two  every- 

[381] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

body  would  know  that  he  had  left  the  company,  and  people 
would  say  he  had  been  put  out  on  her  account.  The  best, 
the  only  fair  thing  to  do  was  to  break  the  engagement  at 
once,  before  it  was  too  late,  and  let  him  regain  his  position. 
They  must  come  to  an  understanding  now.  ...  All  these 
thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind  as  she  sat  there  looking 
at  him,  hardly  knowing  how  to  frame  in  words  what  she 
wished  to  say. 

"Well,  May,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?"  he 
asked,  looking  up  furtively  after  the  manner  of  a  child  who 
dreads  a  scolding.  The  question  gave  her  the  opportunity 
she  sought. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  Will,  and  that  is  —  "  she 
hesitated,  and  then  continued  firmly,  "break  off  our  engage 
ment.  There  is  no  use,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  as  she  saw 
he  was  about  to  protest, —  "  there  is  no  use.  Your  father  will 
never  give  in.  He  is  bitter  and  relentless,  he  is  a  sick  man, 
and  he  will  cut  you  off,  all  on  my  account.  We  could  not 
marry  now  if  we  wanted  to.  You  have  nothing,  I  —  well,  I 
am  dependent  upon  others.  Two  needs  do  not  make  a  plenty." 

He  looked  at  her  in  dull  amazement ;  all  he  could  say  was : 

"  Look  here,  May,  you  don't  mean  to  say  —  you  don't 
mean  to  say  you  're  going  to  throw  me  over  ?  "  He  rose  to 
his  feet  and  took  a  step  toward  her,  but  she  got  up  quickly 
and  avoided  him. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  It  is  better, —  it  is  the  only 
thing  to  do.  I  have  no  right  to  stand  between  you  and  your 
father.  I  have  been  wrong,  wrong,  wrong.  Let  us  drop 
the  matter  now,  right  here,  before  it  is  too  late.  In  a  day  or 
two  everybody  would  know.  You  must  go  back  to  your  old 
place  to-morrow." 

[382] 


Out  of  the  Yards 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I  do!"  he  said  doggedly,  his  face 
flushing  a  deeper  red  as  anger  and  disappointment  got  the 
better  of  him. 

With  all  a  woman's  tact  she  said  soothingly : 

"  Do  it  because  I  ask  you  to,  Will ;  it  is  for  the  best.  We 
can  wait;  let  the  future  take  care  of  itself." 

She  knew  that  she  was  holding  out  a  hope  that  might 
never  be  realized,  but  it  was  the  only  way  to  carry  her  point 
—  to  get  him  to  avoid  the  notoriety  and  consequences  of  the 
open  breach;  that  must  be  avoided  at  any  cost. 

It  required  both  tact  and  persuasion  to  bring  Will  Ganton 
to  her  way  of  thinking.  His  impulse  was  to  fight  it  out. 
He  did  not  care  what  people  said,  and  he  would  show  his 
father  he  could  get  on.  That  was  the  way  he  felt,  but  in  the 
end  he  promised  to  do  as  she  asked,  and  he  left  the  house  with 
the  firm  intention  of  effecting  a  reconciliation  with  his  father 
the  next  day.  But  the  opportunity  never  came. 


[383] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  SENTENCE  OF  DEATH 

MONDAY  morning  John  Ganton  was  so  much  worse 
that  without  saying  anything  to  him  his  wife  tele 
phoned  for  the  doctor. 

He  had  not  felt  well  all  day  Sunday.  He  was  restless, 
complained  of  swelling  in  his  feet  and  legs,  and  of  the  pain 
in  his  stomach. 

"  Don't  bother  me.  I  '11  be  better  in  the  morning,"  he 
answered  impatiently  when  his  anxious  wife  timidly  sug 
gested  calling  the  doctor.  But  toward  night  the  pain  be 
came  so  acute  that  he  could  not  sleep.  It  hurt  him  even  to 
move  his  body,  and  he  could  not  stand  the  pressure  of  the 
hot-water  bag  against  his  side.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
something  had  burst  inside,  and  he  carefully  passed  his  hand 
over  the  hard  lump  and  over  his  abdomen,  which  he  could  see 
was  swollen,  and  the  skin  was  tense  like  the  head  of  a  drum. 
He  realized  that  he  was  a  very  sick  man,  that  there  must  be 
something  very  serious  the  matter.  But  if  the  doctors  came 
they  would  look  him  over  and  find  the  lump,  and  insist  on 
cutting  him  open, —  the  thought  frightened  him  more  than 
the  pain. 

As  he  lay  there  flat  on  his  back  trying  to  sleep,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  more  wide  awake  with  his  eyes  closed 
than  writh  them  open.  With  them  open  he  saw  only  the 
dimly  lighted  room,  the  familiar  objects,  and  the  shadows  on 
the  wall;  but  with  his  eyes  closed  he  saw  everything, 

[384] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

everybody,  the  Yards,  the  great  steam-filled  rooms,  the 
bubbling  vats,  the  men  barefooted  and  sweaty  moving 
about  amidst  the  slime  and  offal,  the  sheep  and  the  hogs  and 
the  cattle  in  the  long  narrow  runways  moving  in  an  endless 
stream  on  to  the  killing-rooms.  There  were  moments  when 
it  seemed  as  if  a  million  great,  round,  meek  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him  in  reproach;  he  aroused  himself  with  a  start,  and  the 
four  walls  of  his  bedroom,  with  the  shadows  from  the  dim 
light,  were  a  positive  relief. 

With  feverish  restlessness  his  mind  wandered  from  one 
detail  of  his  great  business  to  another,  worrying  to  think 
what  would  become  of  it  if  he  did  not  get  well.  Every  time 
he  thought  of  Will  a  feeling  of  depression  rather  than  of 
anger  came  over  him,  and  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had 
treated  the  boy  quite  fairly;  but  then  he  saw  the  red  and 
bloated  features  of  Jem  Keating,  the  worthless  sot,  the  man 
who  years  before  had  —  his  heart  filled  with  rage.  Yet  his 
mind  did  not  dwell  long  on  any  particular  matter;  several 
times  he  tried  to  concentrate  his  thoughts,  to  forget,  if  possi 
ble,  his  sufferings,  but  his  fancy  wandered,  queer  shapes  and 
imaginings  assailed  him.  The  shadows  on  the  walls  danced 
about  as  if  suddenly  imbued  with  life,  coming  toward  him, 
bending  over  the  bed,  trying  to  snatch  the  clothes  off  him  to 
get  at  the  place  on  his  side. 

On  a  sudden  he  could  see  that  they  had  knives  in  their 
hands.  They  would  kill  him,  and  with  a  cry  of  terror  he 
tried  to  push  the  shadows  away.  For  a  second  they  van 
ished  from  the  bedside  and  went  back  to  their  places  on  the 
walls.  He  thought  he  saw  his  wife  moving  about  the  room, 
-  he  had  been  dozing  and  dreaming,  that  was  all. 
But  soon  the  shadows  began  to  dance  about  again  as  they 

[385] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

came  down  from  the  wall,  and  this  time  he  was  sure  they 
gathered  about  his  bed  and  looked  at  him.  He  could  see 
them  more  plainly,  for  it  was  daylight;  he  could  even  hear 
their  voices.  They  were  trying  to  talk  to  him,  but  he  would 
not  answer, —  he  knew  better  than  that;  he  would  keep  quiet 
and  pretend  he  was  asleep,  and  they  would  go  away,  would 
go  back  to  the  walls  and  stay  there.  He  would  just  hold  to 
the  bedclothes  so  they  could  not  get  at  him.  But  he  could 
feel  them  tugging,  and  as  they  grabbed  him  by  the  hands 
and  held  him  tight,  he  tried  to  cry  out,  to  scream  for  help, 
to  roll  over,  to  get  away;  but  they  held  him,  threw  back  the 
bedclothes,  and  he  could  feel  them  touch  the  spot  on  his  side 
and  tap  on  his  stomach.  He  knew  they  were  looking  for  a 
place  to  thrust  their  knives,  and  the  sweat  stood  out  upon  his 
forehead  as  he  groaned  and  fought,  until  in  an  agony  of  des 
peration  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  saw  his  wife  and  three 
men  about  the  bed.  He  recognized  one  as  the  doctor  he  had 
seen  before,  and  as  his  mind  cleared  a  little  he  knew  the  others 
were  doctors.  He  must  have  been  dreaming. 

But  who  had  called  them  ?  A  frown  came  over  his  face, 
and  he  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  every  one  out  of  the 
room,  when  the  one  he  knew  spoke  to  him  gently: 

"You  feel  better  now,  Mr.  Ganton?  " 

He  did  not  feel  any  better,  but  he  would  not  admit  it. 
He  would  not  tell  those  men,  so  he  turned  on  his  side  and 
faced  the  wall  without  answering. 

For  a  long  time  there  was  a  hum  of  subdued  voices.  They 
were  talking  together,  but  he  could  not  hear  what  they  said, 
and  had  no  desire  to.  So  long  as  they  did  not  bother  him 
and  did  not  try  to  meddle  he  did  not  care.  .  .  .  But  why 
did  they  not  go  ? 

[386] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

In  a  little  while  they  did  go,  and  his  wife  bent  over  him. 

"John,"  she  said  softly,  "are  you  awake?  Do  you 
know  me  ?  " 

That  irritated  him,  and  he  answered  impatiently: 

"Of  course  I  know  you;  why  do  you  ask  such  a  fool 
question  ?  " 

He  could  hear  something  like  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  said : 

"The  doctors  want  you  to  take  this  medicine,  John." 

He  turned  angrily. 

"  What  are  those  doctors  doing  here  ?  Who  called  them  ? 
Send  them  away.  Tell  them  to  go  — "  His  voice  died 
away  in  a  groan,  the  intense  pain  he  was  suffering  over 
came  him. 

"  You  have  been  so  sick  all  night  long,  that  you  did  n't 
know  me  at  all.  We  could  n't  do  anything  with  you.  Take 
this;  the  doctors  say  it  will  ease  the  pain." 

He  took  the  medicine  without  further  protest,  and  eyed 
his  wife  suspiciously,  as  if  desirous  of  asking  something,  and 
yet  being  afraid  to.  At  length  he  said: 

"  Did  they  look  me  over  at  all  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  second  and  replied  timidly: 

"  They  had  to,  John.  It  could  n't  be  helped, —  they  had 
to  find  out  what  was  the  matter." 

He  turned  his  head  toward  the  wall.  The  worst  had 
happened:  he  had  not  been  dreaming;  the  shadows  had 
come  down  and  held  him  and  pulled  the  clothes  off. 

"  Well,  what  do  they  say  ?  "  he  asked,  as  if  indifferent  to 
their  opinions.  "  Do  they  want  to  cut  me  open  ?  " 

"Oh,  no:  not  that,"  his  wife  exclaimed  hurriedly.  "I 
heard  one  say  an  operation  would  do  no  good." 

A  feeling  of  relief  came  over  him.  The  terror  of  weeks 
[387] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

lifted  from  his  breast,  and  he  no  longer  cared  how  many 
doctors  looked  him  over  so  long  as  there  would  be  no  cutting. 
On  the  contrary,  he  felt  a  sudden  curiosity  to  know  what  they 
did  think  was  the  matter  with  him. 

"  Have  they  gone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No;  they  are  down  in  the  library  holding  a  consultation." 

"When  they  get  their  minds  made  up  I  want  to  see  them. 
.  .  .  Who  are  they,  anyway  ?  " 

She  named  the  two  best-known  surgeons  in  the  city, 
one  a  famous  specialist  in  abdominal  troubles. 

"  Yes ;  I  've  heard  their  names.  They  would  rather  cut 
a  man  up  than  eat.  I  wonder  why  they  did  n't  want  to  cut 
into  me." 

When  the  doctors  did  come  up  he  was  wide  awake  and 
in  possession  of  all  his  faculties;  the  pain  had  subsided,  and 
he  felt  easier  in  every  way.  As  they  approached  the  bedside 
he  eyed  them  with  something  of  the  old  look  of  suspicion  in 
the  gray  eyes,  now  deeply  sunken  beneath  the  overhanging 
bushy  brows. 

One  of  the  surgeons,  the  famous  specialist,  cleared  his 
throat  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  got  no  farther  than  a  guttural 
"Ahem!" 

John  Ganton  became  impatient;  as  the  pain  subsided 
his  irritability  increased. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  That  is  what  I  'd 
like  to  know.  Speak  out,  and  don't  try  to  hide  things." 

Again  the  eminent  specialist  cleared  his  throat,  and  tried 
to  veneer  the  bitter  truth  with  a  series  of  high-sounding 
phrases. 

John  Ganton  listened  wearily;  it  was  mostly  Greek  to 
him.  He  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  the  great  specialist 

[388] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

was  talking  about,  except  when  peritonitis  was  mentioned ;  he 
knew  what  peritonitis  was,  a  kind  of  an  inflammation  about 
the  stomach,  and  if  that  was  all  then  he  would  come  around 
all  right  in  a  short  time;  but  the  lump  in  his  side,  why  did 
they  say  nothing  about  that  ?  At  length  he  broke  in  abruptly : 

"What's  that  lump  in  my  side,  doctor?" 

The  surgeon  seemed  confused ;  he  looked  at  his  colleagues, 
and  it  was  so  long  before  he  replied  John  Ganton  knew  they 
were  trying  to  conceal  something. 

"  I  want  to  know  the  truth,  doctor,  and  no  beating  about 
the  bush." 

His  voice  was  so  firm  and  his  manner  so  peremptory,  that 
the  three  physicians  understood  they  must  let  him  know  his 
real  condition.  Dropping  his  professional  manner,  the  great 
surgeon  tried  to  break  the  truth  as  kindly  and  gently  as 
possible.  His  heart  was  not  so  callous  he  could  pronounce 
the  death  sentence  unmoved. 

"  I  wish,  Mr.  Ganton,  we  could  give  you  more  encourage 
ment,  but  the  truth  is,  your  condition  is  very  serious.  The 
trouble  is  with  the  liver;  we  fear  you  are  suffering  from  a 
cancer  — 

The  doctor  paused  and  looked  at  his  silent  colleagues. 
To  John  Ganton  the  term  "cancer"  carried  a  terrible  signifi 
cance.  He  knew  it  meant  death  sooner  or  later;  he  knew  in 
most  cases  it  meant  an  operation,  and  all  his  fears  suddenly 
revived.  Nerving  himself,  he  asked  hoarsely: 

"Do  you  propose  to  cut  me  open,  doctor?" 

The  surgeon  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  If  it  is  a  cancer 
it  would  do  no  good,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"  But  suppose  it  is  n't  a  cancer  ?  "  the  old  man  was  grasp 
ing  at  every  straw. 

[389] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

"  The  diagnosis  is  plain.  We  feel  there  can  be  very  little 
doubt  —  " 

"You  are  not  sure;  you  don't  know  for  certain,"  he  mut 
tered  hoarsely. 

"No;  we  do  not  know  for  certain,  and  we  could  only  find 
out  positively  by  opening  it  up  so  we  could  see." 

For  a  long  time  John  Ganton  was  silent,  so  long  that  the 
doctors  thought  the  opiate  was  taking  effect  and  he  was  going 
to  sleep.  But  he  was  not;  his  mind  was  never  more  active 
than  at  that  moment.  He  was  thinking,  thinking  that  after 
all  it  might  be  better  to  let  them  cut  into  him  a  little  and 
make  sure.  He  could  not  stand  the  awful  suspense  of  the 
days  and  weeks  to  follow.  He  would  rather  die  under  the 
surgeon's  knife  than  die  by  inches  from  hour  to  hour.  In 
the  presence  of  that  malignant  reality,  a  cancer,  the  idea 
of  an  operation  suddenly  lost  all  its  terrors.  He  even  felt 
angry  with  the  fool  doctors  for  not  insisting  upon  finding  out 
the  truth  at  once.  Why  should  they  stand  there  guessing,  as 
if  his  life  were  some  game  to  be  played  by  the  wits  ?  Why 
did  they  not  go  ahead  and  make  sure?  If  that  lump  was 
a  cancer  he  was  a  dead  man  anyway;  if  it  was  not,  then 
they  might  take  it  out  or  do  something;  he  must  get  rid  of 
that  lump  or  he  would  die.  .  .  . 

He  opened  his  eyes.  The  doctors  were  whispering 
together  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  What  were  they  talking 
about  now  ?  Wrhy  did  n't  they  speak  up  so  he  could  hear  ? 

"Doctor,"  he  called  out  sharply. 

The  great  specialist  came  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Look  here,  doctor,  I  want  you  to  find  out  for  certain 
whether  that  is  cancer  or  not.  Will  you  have  to  cut  very 
deep  ?  " 

[390] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

"No,  Mr.  Ganton,  the  operation  would  be  very  slight; 
there  would  be  no  danger  connected  with  the  mere  explora 
tion,  but  if  it  is  cancer  your  condition  is  desperate,  for  the 
disease  is  well  advanced."  The  great  surgeon  now  spoke 
plainly  and  earnestly  as  man  to  man,  with  no  subterfuge, 
no  evasion  in  his  manner.  John  Ganton  liked  him  better 
and  had  confidence  in  him. 

"Well,  doctor,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "I  don't  propose 
to  lie  here  and  suffer  hell  without  knowing  whether  I  am 
dying  or  not.  I  want  to  find  out,  and  find  out  quick,  so  go 
ahead." 

With  that  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  closed  his 
eyes.  One  of  the  doctors  bent  over  and  looked  at  him,  and 
said  softly,  "He  is  going  to  sleep."  He  heard  them  tiptoe 
softly  out  of  the  room,  and  he  was  alone.  He  did  not  feel 
drowsy,  and  the  pain  was  mostly  gone,  leaving  only  a  dull 
sensation  about  his  stomach.  The  hypodermic  they  had 
given  him  made  him  more  comfortable,  but  he  was  not 
sleepy.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  at  the  quaint  pattern 
of  the  old-fashioned  wall-paper,  noticing  that  in  one  place 
the  careless  hanger  had  not  matched  the  two  strips  of  paper 
perfectly,  and  every  flower  up  and  down  the  line  was  slightly 
askew.  It  annoyed  him  so  that  he  wondered  why  he  had 
never  noticed  it  before  in  all  the  years  he  had  slept  in  that 
bed.  It  irritated  him  so  he  shut  his  eyes,  but  when  he  opened 
them  later  the  flowers  were  still  queer;  he  would  have  that 
fixed  if  they  had  to  repaper  the  entire  room ;  he  would  attend 
to  that  as  soon  as  he  got  out, —  but  suppose  he  never  got  out, 
never  left  his  bed ;  did  not  the  doctor  say  it  might  come  any 
moment  ?  Even  now  it  might  be  lurking  in  the  hallway  just 
outside  his  door,  or  hovering  like  a  shadow  beside  his  bed; 

[391] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

he  pulled  the  clothes  tight  about  his  neck  and  once  more 
shut  his  eyes ;  this  time  he  slept,  but  his  sleep  was  troubled 
by  strange  dreams, —  were  they  dreams  or  memories  ?  He 
dreamed  he  was  a  child ;  he  saw  a  dusty,  sandy  road  stretch 
ing  between  fields  of  grain  and  green  pastures;  he  was 
walking  with  his  grandmother.  Soon  they  came  to  a  little  old 
country  burying-ground  where  the  mounds  were  overgrown 
with  weeds  and  thickets  of  brush,  where  the  few  headstones 
had  toppled  over  and  the  boards  with  painted  inscriptions 
had  rotted  and  decayed;  the  burying-ground  was  no  longer 
used ;  they  turned  in  and  came  to  a  hole  in  the  ground  where 
two  men  were  standing  with  shovels  and  ropes.  He  went 
to  the  side  of  the  hole  and  peered  in;  there  at  the  bottom, 
where  the  water  trickled  in,  he  saw  a  worm-eaten  coffin,  the 
lid  was  off  and  the  coffin  was  half -filled  with  water,  but  he 
saw  a  face,  a  ghastly  white  and  drawn  face,  a  face  which  had 
great  hollows  for  eyes,  and  it  grinned  and  showed  its  teeth;  he 
saw  a  mass  of  black  hair  coiled  about  the  head,  and  the  water 
kept  trickling  in.  He  staggered  back  and  sat  down  on  the 
pile  of  loose,  damp  earth,  the  men  looked  at  him  and  laughed 
coarsely.  His  grandmother  was  crying,  she  remembered 
when  that  body  at  the  bottom  of  the  wet  grave  was  filled 
with  life,  when  it  played  about  the  house  and  trotted 
in  her  footsteps,  when  it  knelt  at  her  knees  to  pray  and 
nestled  by  her  side  to  sleep;  she  remembered  when  the  end 
came,  when  the  young  bright  eyes  were  closed  in  death, 
when  the  fair  hands  were  clasped  upon  the  breast,  when  the 
coffin  was  closed,  and  with  a  wreath  of  flowers  was  lowered 
into  this  grave  to  moulder  and  dissolve  into  earth  again, 
—  that  was  long  years  before,  years  before  he  was  born ; 
but  his  grandmother  remembered  it  all  as  if  but  the  day 

[392] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

before.  Now  the  grave  was  opened  to  move  the  body  to 
a  newer  cemetery,  she  lived  her  sorrow  over  again,  and  she 
cried  as  she  stood  there  tall  and  thin.  That  was  death, 
that  ghastly  whiteness,  those  hollow  sockets,  the  grinning 
mouth,  —  that  was  death.  Covered  with  perspiration  he 
awoke.  His  wife  was  sitting  by  the  bed,  some  woman 
with  a  cap  and  in  a  queer  dress  was  fussing  with  a 
bottle  over  by  the  bureau, —  where  did  she  come  from  ? 
He  could  not  have  dozed  more  than  three  or  four  minutes. 

"  Are  you  awake,  John  ?  "  his  wife  asked  softly. 

"  Yes,  what  time  is  it  ?  " 

"Nearly  four  o'clock.  The  nurse  wants  to  give  you 
some  medicine." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  puzzled  and  helpless, —  nearly  four 
o'clock !  He  had  slept  almost  all  day;  and  they  had  brought 
in  a  trained  nurse,  a  strange  woman,  without  saying  a  word 
to  him.  He  did  not  like  it,  and  he  should  let  her  go  just  as 
soon  as  he  got  a  little  better;  but  not  just  now,  for  the  pain 
had  come  back  in  his  side  and  stomach,  and  she  could  give 
him  something. 

He  took  his  medicine  without  protest,  and  lay  there 
watching  the  nurse  arrange  the  bottles  and  make  an  entry 
on  a  big  sheet  of  paper  spread  on  the  bureau ;  he  was  curious 
to  know  what  she  put  down,  but  did  not  ask. 

That  afternoon  Browning  cabled  John  to  come  home. 

"There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand,"  the  surgeon 
said  to  Browning.  "We  shall  make  an  incision  to  be  abso 
lutely  certain,  but  there  is  no  doubt." 

"  How  long  will  he  live  ?  "  Browning  asked  anxiously. 

"  A  week  or  a  month, —  no  one  can  tell.  The  end  often 
[393] 


Ganton  &:  Co. 

comes  pretty  quickly  in  these  cases;    not  only  the  liver,  but 
surrounding  tissue,  is  badly  involved,  and  he  may  die  of 
haemorrhage  any  minute." 
"  Then  why  operate  ?  " 

"He  insists  upon  it,  — to  make  sure  of  the  diagnosis." 
"  That  is  strange,  for  he  has  always  been  mortally  afraid 
of  the  knife.     I  never  knew  a  man  so  afraid  of  an  operation." 
"Well,  I  don't  blame  him  for  wanting  to  know  for  sure 
what  ails  him.     I  should  if  I  were  in  his  place." 

"  But  if  it  is  n't  cancer  can  you  do  anything  to  help  him  ?  " 
"Probably  not;    whatever  the  growth  is  it  is  too  firmly 
attached  to  the  liver  to  be  removed." 

"  Then  the  operation  won't  amount  to  anything  in  the  end  ?  " 
"  No,  only  we  shall  find  whether  there  is  a  cancer  or  not." 
Browning  could  not  see  much  sense  in  cutting  a  man  open 
to  satisfy  curiosity,  even  if  the  patient  did  insist. 

"  Doctors  are  altogether  too  willing  to  use  the  knife 
nowadays,"  he  remarked  to  his  wife  that  evening.  He  was 
anxious  and  worried  and  all  at  sea  in  the  office  without  the 
commanding  influence  of  John  Ganton.  Browning  had 
never  decided  an  important  matter  without  referring  it  to 
his  employer,  and  the  foreign  managers  were  expected  to 
refer  everything  except  routine  business  to  the  home  office. 
John  Ganton  was  more  than  the  life,  he  was  the  very  soul, 
of  his  great  company ;  and  unless  some  one  of  like  force  and 
decision  could  take  his  place  the  entire  business  must  be 
reorganized  on  a  very  different  basis. 

"What  will  you  do  if  he  dies?"  Mrs.  Browning  asked 
apprehensively. 

"  I  don't  know, —  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Will  could 
never  run  the  business  even  if  - 

[394] 


The  Sentence  of  Death 

"  How  about  John  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  am  afraid  he  won't  take  hold;  he 
does  n't  like  the  Yards." 

"  But  he  may  have  to,  whether  he  likes  to  or  not,"  Mrs. 
Browning  remarked  emphatically. 

"  It 's  hard  driving  an  unwilling  horse.  I  cabled  John 
to-day, —  the  doctors  said  he  ought  to  be  here." 

The  news  that  John  Ganton  was  very  sick,  that  there  had 
been  a  consultation  of  surgeons,  that  he  could  not  live,  that 
there  would  be  an  operation,  and  much  more  to  the  same 
effect  spread  over  the  city  and  through  the  Yards  with 
lightning-like  rapidity. 

Within  a  few  hours  the  rumors  became  greatly  exagger 
ated  and  distorted.  It  was  reported  that  there  had  been  an 
operation  and  he  had  died  under  the  knife,  that  it  had  turned 
out  nothing  was  the  matter,  but  the  surgeons  had  killed  him, 
—  this  the  men  at  the  Yards  firmly  believed  until  convinced 
to  the  contrary;  though  even  when  told  that  he  was  alive 
and  probably  in  no  immediate  danger,  they  insisted  the 
surgeons  would  kill  him  in  the  end. 

Doc  Ruggles  did  much  to  confirm  this  belief.  He  had 
no  use  for  surgeons,  veterinary  or  otherwise,  of  the  modern 
school;  he  did  not  believe  in  the  use  of  the  knife;  in  his 
opinion  a  red-hot  iron  was  worth  a  dozen  knives,  and  a 
blister  never  killed  any  one. 

"I  'd  fix  that  lump  in  his  side,"  he  said,  nodding  his  head 
emphatically,  "  I  'd  burn  that  out  of  him  in  a  jiffy,"  and  not 
a  man  about  Ganton  &  Co.'s  stables  doubted  old  Doc's 
ability  to  do  what  he  said  he  could;  not  one  of  them  was 
afraid  of  a  red-hot  iron,  but  a  knife  —  that  was  very  dif 
ferent.  In  their  business  knives  were  used  to  kill. 

[395] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JOHN  GANTON'S   VISION 

ALL  the  morning  long,  John  Ganton  watched  the 
preparations  for  the  operation.  He  refused  to  be 
moved  to  a  hospital;  he  did  not  care  to  die  cooped 
up  in  one  of  those  terrible  buildings. 

The  big  front  guest-room,  which  had  not  been  used  since, 
since  —  he  could  not  recall  when  it  had  been  occupied  — 
was  thrown  open,  cleaned,  dusted,  and  aired,  although  it 
really  did  not  need  cleaning  or  dusting,  for  it  was  kept  in  per 
fect  order.  He  insisted  on  having  the  door  of  his  room  left 
open,  so  he  could  see  what  was  going  on. 

First  one  of  the  surgeons  came  with  a  younger  man  who 
had  a  silky,  blonde  beard,  wore  glasses,  and  smelt  like  a 
drug-shop;  this  young  man  bustled  about  with  an  air  of 
such  importance  it  irritated  the  old  man.  "I  wonder  who 
that  young  idiot  is,"  he  said  to  himself.  The  young  fellow 
ordered  the  carpet  up  and  the  floor  scrubbed  with  some  queer 
liquid.  The  curtains  had  to  be  taken  down,  leaving  only 
the  shades.  The  stuffy  upholstered  furniture  was  moved 
out.  The  huge  mahogany  bed  was  carried  into  the  third 
story,  and  a  narrow  white-enamelled  iron  bed,  hardly  more 
than  a  cot,  put  in  its  place. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  young  idiot  thinks  I  am  going  to  sleep 
in  that, "  the  old  man  muttered  as  he  watched  these  changes 
with  a  hostile  eye. 

When  he  learned  the  young  man  was  one  of  the  assistants 
[396] 


John  Ganton's  Vision 

to  the  celebrated  specialist,  the  little  confidence  he  had  in 
surgeons  evaporated  completely;  if  they  could  tolerate  such 
half -ripe  whipper-snappers  about  them,  then  their  profession 
was  as  big  a  sham  as  he  had  always  thought  it  was.  It 
annoyed  him  to  hear  his  nurse  call  the  young  idiot,  with  a 
beard  like  a  floss  of  green  corn,  "  Doctor,"  as  if  he  knew 
enough  to  be  anything  more  than  an  office-boy;  the  three 
physicians,  taken  together,  did  not  put  on  so  many  airs  as 
this  young  fellow. 

A  little  later  he  heard  heavy  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and 
two  men  came  up  carrying  a  long  narrow  thing  with  cloth 
on  it,  that  looked  at  first  like  a  box.  The  perspiration 
started  out  on  his  forehead  and  a  cold  chill  went  through 
him, —  could  it  be  a  box, —  a  —  a  —  For  a  moment  he 
thought  they  were  making  preparations  for  the  worst,  until 
he  saw  that  it  was  only  a  long,  narrow  table.  "  That  must  be 
the  operating-table,"  he  thought;  "they  will  lay  me  on  that, 
and  then  they  will  stick  the  knife  in  me."  He  shuddered, 
for  whenever  he  thought  of  the  knife  all  he  could  see  was  the 
pig-sticking  room  at  the  Yards,  the  small  vat-like  place 
where  the  sticker  stood  up  to  his  ankles  in  blood  and  thrust 
his  long,  sharp  knife  in  the  throats  of  the  squealing  hogs  as 
they  slid  rapidly  down  the  iron  runway,  dangling  from  the 
track  above  by  their  hind  legs.  John  Ganton  knew  how 
it  was  done,  for  he  had  stuck  pigs  himself, —  just  a  quick 
jab  with  the  long  knife,  right  in  the  throat,  a  gush  of  red, 
warm  blood,  and  the  pig  would  go  sliding  on,  squealing 
louder  than  ever,  while  a  dozen  more  came  dangling  after  it, 
each  kicking  and  spouting  blood  as  if  its  last  mission  in  life 
was  to  get  rid  of  all  the  blood  it  contained.  He  could  see 
himself  stretched  upon  that  narrow  table,  he  could  see  the 

[397] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

knife,  the  cut,  the  blood, —  he  felt  sick  at  his  stomach,  and 
partially  turned  away  in  the  effort  to  shut  out  the  vision. 

By-and-bye  another  nurse  came  in  the  same  cap  and 
uniform,  and  with  her  a  lot  of  bottles  and  queerly  shaped 
dishes.  She  busied  herself  in  the  front  room.  Every  time 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  through  the  open  doors  and  hall 
way  she  was  cleaning  and  wiping  the  dishes,  arranging  the 
bottles,  or  squeezing  out  big  sponges.  She  wanted  to  close 
the  door,  but  he  would  not  have  it;  he  did  not  propose  to  be 
kept  shut  up  like  an  old  woman.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
was  going  on, —  it  was  his  operation.  He  took  a  certain 
amount  of  satisfaction  in  feeling  that  all  this  was  being 
arranged  for  him;  that  he  was  the  principal  personage  in  the 
drama  to  be  enacted,  and  not  the  young  idiot  of  a  doctor,  not 
the  nurses,  not  even  the  great  surgeon  himself.  He  remem 
bered  that  as  a  small  boy  going  to  the  dentist  to  have  a  tooth 
out  he  was  the  centre  of  a  group  of  admiring  rather  than 
sympathizing  companions.  They  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  while  he  went  up,  all  his  courage  vanishing  the 
moment  he  left  them.  Funny  he  should  recall  that  expe 
rience  of  nearly  sixty  years  ago  at  this  time.  Why,  the 
narrow  wooden  stairway  leading  to  the  dentist's  office  was 
just  as  plain !  The  stairs  were  so  dirty  they  probably  had  not 
been  swept  all  summer.  He  had  not  noticed  it  at  the  time, 
for  his  bare  feet  were  used  to  dirt  in  those  days;  but  he  re 
membered  it  now.  The  dentist  was  such  a  fussy  little 
man,  with  red  whiskers  and  a  bald  head;  his  small  office  had 
only  one  window,  fronting  on  the  main  street  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  on  this  window  was  painted  a  big  white  tooth; 
there  was  a  glass  jar  filled  with  teeth  which  had  been  pulled 
from  young  and  old  during  the  years  he  had  practised 

[398] 


John  Ganton's  Vision 

there, —  more  teeth  from  the  old  than  the  young,  for  all  the 
boys  and  most  of  the  girls  carried  theirs  away  as  trophies. 
How  plain  it  all  appeared!  That  was  his  first  operation, 
and  beyond  the  pulling  of  hollow  and  aching  teeth  he  had 
known  no  other. 

During  the  days  he  had  been  in  bed,  during  the  hours  he 
had  restlessly  wandered  about  the  house,  so  many  events 
and  scenes  of  his  early  life  had  come  back  to  him !  When  the 
pain  was  intense  he  could  not  concentrate  his  mind,  he  could 
not  keep  it  within  the  narrow  confines  of  the  present,  but 
as  if  released  by  bodily  suffering,  it  ran  riot  over  his  entire 
career.  Often  he  grew  very  tired  of  these  endless  recollec 
tions  and  tried  to  forget,  tried  to  think  of  nothing  at  all,  but 
when  he  succeeded  in  blotting  out  the  past  his  present  condi 
tion  with  all  his  disagreeable  sensations  rushed  in  upon  him. 
Would  he  never  rest?  Would  he  never  again  be  free  from 
that  terrible  consciousness  of  self?  . 

Three  o'clock  was  the  hour  fixed  for  the  operation.  A 
little  after  one  John  Ganton  had  a  long  talk  with  his  wife. 
He  had  not  talked  so  long  with  her  since  —  since  —  he 
could  not  remember  when.  For  many  years  they  had  drifted 
apart  in  the  big,  gloomy  house;  in  all  her  attachments  and 
sympathies  she  had  remained  as  she  always  had  been,  while 
he  had  developed  along  lines  she  could  neither  follow  nor 
comprehend.  They  had  lived  under  the  same  roof,  but  as 
two  beings  from  different  walks  of  life.  In  the  presence  of 
death  they  drew  together  once  more ;  he  leaned  on  her,  and 
she  felt  pride  in  her  burden. 

During  the  hour  they  were  by  themselves  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears,  and  more  than  once  his  own  were  wet.  In 

[399] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

spite  of  the  doctor's  assurance  that  there  was  no  danger  in  the 
examination  they  were  about  to  make,  he  feared  he  might 
not  come  out  from  under  the  anaesthetic,  that  he  would 
never  regain  consciousness.  All  day  long  this  notion 
haunted  him. 

He  asked  for  Will,  but  Will  had  not  been  home  since  the 
Saturday  before;  he  had  not  been  seen  at  the  clubs  since 
Sunday,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  was.  When  they  told 
him  Will  could  not  be  found,  something  of  the  old,  angry  look 
came  into  his  face,  but  it  passed  away  quickly,  and  he  said 
nothing. 

When  they  came  in  to  prepare  him  he  was  lying  quietly 
on  his  back,  with  his  wife's  thin  white  hand  clasped  in  his. 

His  interest  was  at  once  aroused  in  all  they  did. 

When  the  two  nurses  and  the  young  assistant  began  to 
clean  his  side  and  abdomen  with  water  and  alcohol  and  some 
other  liquid,  and  swathe  him  with  linen  bandages,  he  angrily 
told  the  young  fellow  to  leave  him  alone,  to  let  the  nurses 
attend  to  him;  then  when  he  saw  how  surprised  and  cha 
grined  the  young  man  was,  he  was  sorry  he  had  spoken  so 
harshly.  The  nurses  bathed  him  so  gently,  he  scarcely  felt 
the  pressure  of  their  trained  fingers;  they  handled  him  like 
a  great  baby.  But  he  would  not  let  the  doctors  carry  him 
into  the  front  room. 

"  I  'm  not  so  far  gone  as  all  that,  doctor,"  he  protested 
when  they  were  about  to  pick  him  up.  ''  I  can  manage  to  get 
there,  if,"  he  added,  struggling  to  rise,  "you  will  give  me 
a  lift." 

He  was  bent  and  thin,  and  so  feeble  that  as  his  wife  saw 
him  totter  through  the  hall,  she  buried  her  face  in  both  her 
hands  and  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break, —  she  had  never 

[400] 


John  Canton's  Vision 

expected  to  see  her  big,  burly  husband  like  that.  They  had 
told  her  to  remain  where  she  was  until  it  was  all  over;  the 
doctors  had  assured  her  many  times  there  was  no  danger, 
for  they  did  not  intend  to  go  very  deep, —  only  far  enough  to 
find  out  what  was  the  matter.  It  would  be  only  a  few  min 
utes,  half  an  hour  at  the  most;  but  how  long,  how  endlessly 
long  it  seemed  since  the  door  of  that  front  room  was  closed, 
and  then,  when  it  did  open  — 

Assisted  by  two  of  the  doctors  John  Ganton  walked  feebly 
through  the  hall  to  the  front  room;  he  stopped  just  a 
moment  at  the  door  of  his  own  room  and  looked  back.  Ever 
since  the  house  was  built  he  had  slept  in  that  room,  and  not 
a  piece  of  furniture  had  been  changed.  He  never  cared  for 
new  things ;  the  fact  that  the  heavy  black-walnut  furniture,  the 
best  they  could  buy  at  the  time,  had  long  passed  out  of  vogue 
did  not  bother  him.  Having  adjusted  himself  to  its  ponder 
ous  pretentiousness,  he  found  it  comfortable.  Now  he  saw 
the  bed  with  the  counterpane  and  blanket  thrown  back  in 
disorder,  he  saw  the  stand  at  the  head  of  the  bed  with  its 
bottles  and  a  glass  half  filled  with  water  and  the  spoon  from 
which  he  had  taken  his  medicine  a  few  moments  before;  he 
saw  the  bureau  and  the  paper  on  which  the  nurse  kept  his 
record,  her  pencil  lying  where  she  dropped  it  after  making  the 
last  entry.  .  .  .  What  would  be  her  next  ?  he  asked  him 
self.  His  eye  took  in  every  detail  in  the  few  seconds  he 
stood  there  steadying  himself  with  one  hand  against  the  door 
jamb;  last  of  all,  his  glance  dwelt  affectionately,  even  wist 
fully,  on  his  wife,  who  had  meekly  taken  her  seat  by  the  win 
dow  to  wait,  obeying  quite  literally  the  doctor's  injunction  to 
sit  down  and  be  patient. 

He  might  never  enter  the  room  again, —  that  was  the 
[401] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

thought  which  haunted  him,  and  this  last  look  seemed  to  him 
like  a  farewell. 

All  the  doctors  wore  white  gowns  tied  across  their  backs, 
even  the  young  assistant  was  in  white,  as  if  he,  too,  played 
a  part;  he  stood  at  the  head  of  the  long,  narrow  operating- 
table,  and  on  the  small  stand  beside  him  there  were  large, 
queerly  shaped  sponges,  and  a  black  bottle  that  held  a  pint 
or  more.  It  annoyed  John  Ganton  to  see  this  young  fellow 
with  his  silky  blonde  beard  standing  there  with  an  air  of 
such  importance, —  why  did  they  have  him  around  ? 

Pushed  to  one  side  there  was  a  small  square  table  with 
some  things  on  it.  They  were  covered  with  a  towel,  so  he 
could  not  see  what  they  were,  but  he  knew  that  under  the 
towel  were  the  instruments;  they  had  put  them  out  of  sight, 
so  as  not  to  frighten  him,  though,  strangely  enough,  he  was 
no  longer  afraid.  The  operation  did  not  worry  him;  he  was 
only  anxious  to  get  through  with  it,  and  find  out  whether  or 
not  the  lump  in  his  side  was  really  a  cancer.  He  even  wished 
he  could  watch  them  open  it  so  as  to  see  for  himself. 

The  doctors  helped  him  on  the  narrow  table  covered  with 
a  white  sheet ;  somehow  the  sheet  looked  to  him  as  if  it  were 
already  spotted  and  splashed  with  blood. 

They  were  very  gentle  with  him,  talking  to  him  as  if  he 
needed  encouragement  and  reassurance: 

"  It  will  amount  to  nothing,  Mr.  Ganton." 

"  It  will  be  over  before  you  know  it." 

"You  won't  feel  anything  at  all." 

"  If  you  will  lie  perfectly  still  and  take  the  ether  as  if  you 
were  going  to  sleep,  you  will  be  under  the  influence  in  no 
time." 

They  kept  saying  these  things  while  they  were  arranging 

[402] 


John  Ganton's  Vision 

him  on  the  narrow  table,  but  he  made  no  reply.  He  did  not 
care  what  they  said,  he  was  interested  only  in  what  they  were 
doing. 

They  put  broad  straps  about  his  legs,  and  he  did  not  like 
it,  he  could  not  move.  The  doctors  took  hold  of  his  hands 
gently  but  firmly,  one  on  each  side  of  the  narrow  table.  He 
saw  the  surgeon,  the  specialist,  nod  almost  imperceptibly  to 
the  young  assistant  with  the  silky  blonde  beard,  and  he  heard 
something  poured  out  of  a  bottle.  There  was  a  sweet,  sick 
ening  odor;  he  knew  the  young  assistant  was  filling  the 
sponge  with  ether,  and  he  wondered  how  they  gave  ether  to 
make  a  man  go  to  sleep,  whether  they  held  it  under  his  nose, 
or  — 

Suddenly  the  big  soggy  sponge  was  pressed  down  over 
his  mouth  and  nose,  even  to  his  eyes.  He  could  not  look  up, 
he  could  not  breathe,  he  smothered,  suffocated,  strangled, — 
he  struggled  to  free  himself.  But  they  held  his  hands  and 
arms,  and  some  one  took  him  by  the  head  so  he  could  not 
turn  or  twist, —  he  would  die,  they  were  smothering  him,  he 
tried  to  call  out;  but  the  big  wet  sponge  deadened  the  cry 
into  a  groan.  He  held  his  breath,  he  would  not  inhale  the 
sickening  stuff;  it  went  all  through  him,  it  made  him  sick 
at  his  stomach,  he  knew  he  should  vomit,  he  could  not  help 
it,  he  felt  the  retching, —  again  he  struggled  to  free  himself, 
but  this  time  more  feebly.  His  strength  was  gone,  he  felt 
so  tired.  What  was  the  use  ?  He  would  just  rest.  He  no 
longer  minded  the  sweet  smell  of  the  ether, —  it  was  rather 
pleasant.  In  fact,  he  could  not  smell  it  at  all;  the  sponge 
felt  so  cool  upon  his  face  he  hoped  they  would  not  take  it 
away.  He  was  not  yet  under  the  influence,  he  was  sure  of 
that.  He  could  hear  voices,  though  they  sounded  far  away. 

[403] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

No,  he  was  not  yet  unconscious,  they  must  not  begin  yet, 
they  must  wait, —  a  feeling  of  terror  swept  over  him  at  the 
thought  that  they  might  cut  into  him  before  he  was  under 
the  ether.  He  would  cry  out  to  let  them  know  he  was  still 
awake;  but  he  could  not  make  a  sound, —  he  was  conscious, 
yet  he  could  not  speak,  could  not  even  groan.  One  hand 
was  free,  but  he  could  not  lift  it,  the  other  some  one  held  and 
felt  his  pulse.  Just  as  he  felt  so  tired  and  sleepy  he  was 
about  ready  to  doze  off,  the  sponge  was  lifted  a  little  and 
some  one  poked  away  at  one  of  his  eyes.  What  were  they 
trying  to  do  now  ?  Some  one  pulled  up  one  of  his  eyelids. 
It  was  the  young  assistant  with  the  silky  blonde  beard.  Why 
did  n't  he  leave  him  alone  ?  W7hy  should  he  disturb  him 
just  as  he  was  dropping  off  to  sleep  ? 

They  stopped  poking  his  eyes,  and  he  felt  the  wet  sponge 
again;  but  this  time  it  was  held  lightly  over  his  face  and 
removed  frequently,  as  if  they  wished  to  give  him  a  chance 
to  breathe.  He  did  not  care,  he  would  just  as  soon  breathe 
the  ether  now  that  he  was  used  to  it;  in  fact,  he  rather  liked  it. 
But  he  was  not  yet  unconscious, —  he  could  hear  voices, 
but  very  distant,  and  he  caught  a  clicking  sound,  as  if  they 
were  rattling  a  lot  of  knives  and  forks  in  a  basket.  They 
were  fussing  with  the  instruments,  but  he  was  not  uncon 
scious,  and  they  must  wait  a  while  yet.  He  would  take  deep 
breaths  of  the  sweet  ether  and  go  to  sleep  as  quickly  as  he 
could  so  they  would  get  through.  He  was  afraid  they  would 
begin  too  soon,  but  every  time  he  took  the  deep  breaths  the 
sponge  would  be  lifted  a  little,  and  they  would  poke  away  at 
his  eyes  and  wake  him  up;  he  began  to  feel  angry  at  the 
idiotic  assistant  who  would  not  let  him  go  to  sleep. 

Just  then  he  felt  they  were  doing  something  to  his  side, — 
[404] 


John  Gan ton's  Vision 

feeling  of  it, —  putting  something  wet  on  it.  He  heard  the 
rattling  of  the  instruments.  They  were  getting  ready;  he 
knew  it,  and  he  was  not  asleep.  He  could  hear  them,  he 
could  feel  what  they  were  doing,  and  they  would  cut  into  him 
while  he  was  awake  and  kill  him.  His  old  terrors  over 
whelmed  him,  he  tried  to  move,  to  struggle,  to  cry  out,  but 
there  was  only  a  hoarse  guttural  sound  which  did  not  seem 
to  come  from  him,  but  from  far  away,  and  the  sponge  came 
down  over  his  mouth  and  nose,  this  time  a  little  closer  and 
firmer 

He  knew  they  were  feeling  of  his  side,  poking  and  work 
ing  at  him, —  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  sensation  down  there 
as  if  they  had  drawn  the  sharp  point  of  a  needle  across  his 
skin,  or  —  no,  it  was  more  like  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  ice,  it 
was  cold.  What  could  they  be  doing  now  ? 

After  this  first  sensation  he  could  feel  nothing  more,  only 
that  they  seemed  to  be  fussing  about  his  side,  pulling  it  and 
poking  it  so  it  ached  a  little,  then  working  it  with  —  why  did 
they  not  put  him  to  sleep  and  go  ahead  with  the  operation  ? 
He  was  getting  tired,  so  weary,  he  would  just  go  to  sleep 
anyway,  ether  or  no  ether,  they  could  do  as  they  pleased,  he 
no  longer  cared.  For  some  time  the  young  assistant  had  not 
poked  his  eyes;  for  some  time  the  big  sponge  had  rested  on 
his  nose  and  mouth,  it  felt  so  cool  and  good,  they  were  so 
interested  in  his  side  they  must  have  forgotten  all  about  him, 
and  now  he  would  go  to  sleep ;  he  would  have  a  good  rest  in 
spite  of  them. 

And  he  went  to  sleep,  and  he  dreamed  of  the  days  when 
he  lived  on  the  farm,  of  those  bright,  happy  days  when,  a 
little  barefooted  boy  in  patched  and  faded  overalls  which 

[405] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

came  to  his  armpits,  he  drove  the  cows  to  pasture  and  loitered 
by  the  brook  in  the  far  meadow,  or  dangled  his  brown  and 
dirty  legs  from  the  rude  bridge  of  tamarack  logs ;  he  dreamed 
of  the  crane  which  stood  like  a  sentinel  by  the  water's  edge, 
of  the  brilliant  dragon-flies  he  often  tried  to  catch,  of  the  big 
shiners  which  darted  hither  and  thither  through  the  rippling 
waters;  he  could  hear  the  hoarse  croaking  of  the  frogs  at 
night,  the  shrill  sound  of  the  grasshoppers  in  the  fields,  the 
song  of  the  distant  whip-poor-will, —  whip-poor-will. 

He  dreamed  of  his  rough  but  kindly  father,  who  rose  with 
the  sun  and  worked  all  day  long  until  after  dark  to  earn 
enough  to  support  his  family,  —  the  father  who  one  day  went 
to  bed  in  the  bedroom  downstairs,  and  after  a  few  days 
died;  he  could  just  remember  how  still  the  house  was,  how 
dark  they  kept  the  room,  the  green  shutters  open  just  a  little 
for  air,  and  how  strange  and  white  and  rigid  his  father  looked 
in  the  long  black  box  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  He 
had  never  seen  his  father  lie  like  that,  in  his  Sunday  coat 
and  waistcoat,  with  a  big  collar  and  white  tie ;  he  stole  in  alone 
and  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers  on  the  white,  the  awfully  white 
forehead,  but  it  was  so  cold  and  damp  he  shrank  back  terri 
fied.  Then  came  the  funeral,  the  neighbors  with  their  bug 
gies  and  teams  hitched  to  the  fence  along  the  road,  the  old 
white-haired  minister  from  the  village,  the  dusty  ride  to  the 
burying-ground,  a  mound  of  earth,  a  few  faded  flowers, 
—  and  that  was  all. 

He  dreamed  of  his  two  sisters  who  had  died  years  and 
years  ago;  and  he  dreamed  of  his  mother,  of  a  thin  figure 
in  black  who  hugged  him  close  to  her  and  cried  over  him, 
who  seemed  to  suffer  so  much.  He  remembered  how  she 
got  thinner  and  thinner,  until  the  village  doctor  told  her  she 

[4061 


John  Ganton's  Vision 

must  go  to  the  hospital  in  the  neighboring  city  and  have 
something  done, —  he  never  knew  what.  But  they  took  him 
to  see  her  in  the  hospital  one  day,  where  she  lay  so  still  on 
the  narrow  iron  bed;  somehow  it  seemed  to  him  like  the 
village  jail.  She  held  his  little  brown  hand  in  both  of  hers 
and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  and  cried  when  they  took 
him  away.  He  never  saw  her  again,  not  even  in  her  coffin, 
for  they  did  not  open  it  when  they  brought  her  back  to  the 
village  to  be  buried  beside  his  father, —  the  same  neighbors 
with  their  horses  hitched  to  the  fence,  the  same  white-haired 
minister  from  the  village,  the  same  burying-ground,  an  open 
grave,  a  few  flowers, —  and  that  was  all.  .  .  . 

But  he  dreamed  stranger  dreams  than  these :  he  dreamed 
the  flowers  that  seemed  withered  and  dead  sprang  to  life 
and  lifted  up  their  heads  in  fragrance,  that  the  graves  opened 
and  those  he  loved  came  forth  in  dim,  mysterious  shapes,  that 
they  hovered  about  him,  stretched  out  their  hands  toward 
him,  beckoned  him  to  join  them;  and  in  the  far  distance  he 
saw  a  city,  the  houses  of  which  were  of  gold  and  the  palaces 
of  clear  crystal, —  it  was  the  city  his  mother  described  so 
often  in  those  days  when  she  taught  him  to  pray, —  that 
beautiful  city  of  light;  there  it  was  in  all  its  fair  reality  just 
as  she  had  said;  so  he  mounted  the  broad,  white  stairway, 
each  step  a  filmy  cloud,  and  he  came  to  the  gates  of  pearl, 
and  he  dreamed  that  before  they  closed  behind  him  he  looked 
back  on  the  earth  beneath,  but  it  was  hidden  and  lost  in 
darkness,  shrouded  in  smoke  and  bathed  in  steam  and  noi 
some  vapors, —  a  place  of  slaughter  and  offal. 


[407] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  END  AND  THE  BEGINNING 

THREE  days  before  young  John  Ganton  arrived  in 
Chicago  his  father  was  buried  in  Graceland.  In  accord 
ance  with  a  wish  expressed  long  before,  they  hollowed 
out  a  great  trench  and  made  a  pit  of  concrete,  the  bottom 
and  sides  of  which  were  more  than  two  feet  thick.  Into  this 
pit  they  lowered  the  leaden  coffin  and  sealed  the  top  with  a 
slab  of  granite  which  only  derricks  could  move.  There 
John  Ganton,  founder,  creator,  and  head  of  Ganton  &  Co., 
was  laid  to  rest,  to  moulder  and  with  the  years  decay;  but 
protected  from  contact  with  the  all-dissolving  earth.  Gen 
erations  hence  his  body  will  remain  intact. 

The  day  after  John  arrived  they  opened  the  will;  it  was 
a  short,  business-like  document,  executed  recently.  After 
distributing  a  number  of  bequests  to  institutions  which  he 
favored  and  to  certain  of  the  men  who  had  worked  for  him 
many  years,  and  after  making  ample  provision  for  his  wife, 
he  left  one  million  dollars  in  trust  for  Will,  the  income  and 
principal  to  be  paid  over  upon  his  marriage,  with  the  pro 
viso,  however,  if  he  married  a  daughter  of  James  Q.  Keat 
ing,  "commonly  known  as  'Jem  Keating'" — so  the  will 
put  it  —  "the  bequest  should  be  null  and  void,  and  the  fund 
so  held  in  trust  should  be  distributed  pro  rata  among  the 
several  institutions  hereinbefore  named  in  clause  three." 

The  entire  rest  and  residue  of  the  estate,  in  whatsoever  it 
[408] 


The  End  and  the  Beginning 

might  consist,  was  left  to  John  Ganton,  Jr.,  with  the  special 
request  that  he  "devote  his  life  and  energies  to  the  service 
of  Ganton  &  Co." 


They  were  assembled  in  the  library,  Mrs.  Ganton,  Will, 
and  John,  their  father's  attorney,  and  Browning,  who  had 
been  invited  to  be  present. 

When  the  clause  concerning  him  was  read,  Will  Ganton's 
face  flushed,  and  he  hung  his  head  as  if  to  suppress  an  ex 
clamation  of  anger.  He  did  not  care  about  the  money;  in 
all  Chicago  there  was  not  a  fellow  who  cared  so  little  about 
money;  but  it  cut  him  to  the  quick  to  hear  May  Keating 
referred  to  in  such  brutal  terms, —  referred  to  as  plainly  as  if 
her  name  had  been  mentioned.  A  bitter  feeling  against  his 
father  filled  his  heart.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  mourned 
more  than  John,  for  his  father  had  been  nearer  to  him  than 
to  his  brother.  In  his  clumsy  way  he  had  tried  to  cheer  his 
mother  and  sustain  her  under  the  awful  shock  of  sudden 
death;  like  a  great  dog,  he  had  hung  about  the  house,  sitting 
by  her  side,  and  comforting  her  in  mute  sympathy.  He  had 
missed  his  father  almost  as  much  as  she  had,  but  now  as  he 
listened  to  the  monotonous  accents  of  the  lawyer  reading  the 
clause  which  cut  him  off  entirely  if  he  married  a  daughter  of 
"  Jem  Keating,"  his  sorrow  gave  way  to  a  feeling  of  bitter 
resentment.  He  was  glad  John  was  to  have  charge  of  the 
business, —  that  provision  relieved  him  of  a  lot  of  responsi 
bility  and  worry.  He  glanced  at  John  to  see  how  he  took 
it,  but  the  latter's  firm,  smooth  face  betrayed  not  the  slightest 
emotion.  He  sat  there  looking  at  the  attorney,  and  listening 
as  if  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

While  the  clause  regarding  Will  was  being  read,  John 
[409] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

Ganton  looked  from  the  attorney  to  his  brother  in  amaze 
ment.  Beyond  a  few  hints  contained  in  his  mother's  letters, 
he  knew  nothing  of  what  had  been  going  on  in  Chicago, 
nothing  of  Will's  quarrel  with  their  father.  When  away  he 
seldom  read  the  Chicago  papers,  and  never  the  society 
columns,  and  he  had  no  friends  to  keep  him  informed. 
Hence  his  surprise  as  he  heard  how  Will  was  cut  off  unless 
he  married,  and  cut  off  absolutely  if  he  married  May  Keating. 
The  harsh  injustice  of  his  father's  resentment  struck  him 
forcibly,  and  he  thought  to  himself,  "  I  will  make  good  that 
wrong." 

That  he  should  be  named  as  the  future  head  of  Ganton 
&  Co.  did  not  surprise  him  at  all,  and  this  lack  of  surprise 
came  to  him  afterward  as  strange. 

He  knew  he  was  powerless  to  evade  the  responsibility. 
The  "request"  from  the  grave  was  merely  the  expression 
of  an  overwhelming  necessity. 

When  the  reading  of  the  will  came  to  an  end  there  was 
silence  for  several  minutes.  The  thin,  keen-faced  lawyer 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  brothers  curiously.  It  was 
all  quite  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  mother,  who  sat 
there  in  the  deepest  mourning,  huddled  in  one  of  the  big  arm 
chairs.  All  she  understood  was  the  reference  to  the  Keating 
girls  and  their  father,  and  she  felt  sorry  for  Will  when  she 
heard  that.  But  all  those  long  words  about  trusts  and 
trustees,  and  devises  and  bequests,  with  one  provision  after 
another,  she  could  make  nothing  of,  so  she  said  nothing.  It 
would  all  come  right  in  the  end, —  of  that  she  was  certain. 
She  kept  thinking  how  lonely  the  big  house  seemed,  and 
wondering  what  she  should  do  now  her  husband  was  gone. 

Will  was  sitting  be^t  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
[410] 


The  End  and  the  Beginning 

knees,  his  chin  resting  in  both  his  hands;  he  had  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  carpet  only  since  the  reading  of  the  clause 
which  so  affected  him. 

The  silence  had  become  oppressive,  when  suddenly 
John  Ganton  roused  himself  as  if  from  a  fit  of  abstraction 
and  asked: 

"Is  that  all?" 

The  lawyer  bowed  his  head,  "There  is  nothing  more, 
Mr.  Ganton." 

"Do  I  understand  that  with  the  exception  of  certain 
bequests,  the  provision  for  my  mother,  and  the  trust  fund  of 
a  million  dollars  for  the  benefit  of  my  brother,  my  father  has 
left  his  entire  estate  to  me  to  do  with  as  I  please  ?  " 

"  That  is  correct ;  you  are  the  principal  and  at  the  same 
time  the  residuary  legatee.  There  are  no  restrictions." 

"  Then,  Will,"  he  exclaimed  in  clear,  measured  tones,  as 
he  rose  and  went  where  his  brother  was  sitting,  "we  can 
right  the  wrong  which  has  been  done  you.  If  father  had 
lived  he  would  have  relented,  and  happily  for  us  both  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  my  doing  what  is  ri^ht  between  you 
and  me." 

Will  Ganton  got  up  impulsively,  grabbed  his  brother's 
outstretched  hand  in  both  his  own,  and  shook  it  vigorously 
as  he  tried  to  speak;  the  conflicting  emotions  were  too  much 
for  him  for  several  seconds,  but  at  length,  half  choking,  he 
said: 

"It's  all  right,  John;  you  mean  all  right.  You  're  just 
the  same  good-hearted,  generous  fellow  you  were  as  a  little 
shaver.  I  knew  you  would  say  it.  I  was  just  waiting  for 
you  to  speak  up,  just  to  see  if  you  had  changed  any.  You 
are  all  right,"  he  repeated  affectionately,  "  you  —  you  're 

[411] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

all  right; "  and  that  was  all  he  could  say,  but  he  threw  his 
arms  about  his  brother's  neck  and  hugged  him  as  if  he  were 
a  child. 

When  John  Ganton,  Jr.,  entered  the  office  of  Ganton  & 
Co. ,  in  La  Salle  Street,  every  employee  in  the  great  outer  room 
looked  up  and  recognized  him,  though  hardly  more  than  a 
dozen  had  ever  seen  him  before. 

He  looked  like  his  father,  though  he  was  not  so  tall, 
not  so  burly,  his  face  was  thinner,  his  eyes  were  softer, 
rounder,  and  bluer,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  resem 
blance;  even  the  office-boy  at  the  door  noticed  it;  the  jaws 
were  square  and  firm.  As  the  keen  salesman  in  New  York 
had  remarked,  there  was  a  "bulldoggy"  expression  which 
reminded  them  of  the  father.  "A  chip  of  the  old  block," 
"  Looks  like  him,"  "  Better  temper,  I  should  say,"  "  Not  so 
quick  to  fly  off  the  handle,"  "Rather  like  his  looks,"  "  He  '11 
do,"  were  some  of  the  comments  which  spread  from  desk 
to  desk  as  he  passed  through  to  Browning's  desk  and  with 
him  into  the  private  office. 

"You  will  find  everything  just  as  your  father  left  it,  Mr. 
Ganton."  It  seemed  funny  to  call  him  "Mr.  Ganton." 
Browning  had  always  called  both  the  boys  by  their  first 
names  since  they  were  little  fellows.  "Nothing  has  been 
disturbed,"  he  continued.  "  You  have  the  key  to  the  desk, 
I  believe." 

John  did  not  reply,  but  looked  about  him  with  a  strange 
feeling.  So  that  was  where  his  father  had  lived  and  worked 
so  many  years,  at  that  desk,  seated  in  that  big  revolving 
chair.  For  the  second  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  in  the  room, 
as  if  an  unseen  presence  hovered  near  them,  as  if  his  spirit 

[412] 


The  End  and  the  Beginning 

lingered  wistfully,  loath  to  relinquish  control  of  the  great 
business. 

The  young  man  was  silent  so  long  that  Browning  began 
to  feel  a  little  uneasy.  At  last  he  said  with  some  hesitation : 

"There  are  a  good  many  telegrams,  shall  I  bring  them 
in?" 

"  Not  just  yet.     I  will  send  for  you  shortly." 

As  Browning  went  out  he  closed  the  door  after  him. 

John  Ganton  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  upon 
the  street  and  at  the  sign  of  the  competitor  on  the  windows 
opposite,  just  as  his  father  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  One  of  the  men  in  the  office  of  the  com 
pany  across  the  street,  looking  over,  exclaimed  in  surprise : 

By  the  great  Jehosaphat !  Look  there,  if  that  is  n't 
old  John  Ganton  come  to  life,  only  he  has  renewed  his 
youth." 

"Must  be  young  John,"  some  one  remarked;  "they  said 
he  might  be  down  to-day." 

"  Well,  if  he  is  n't  the  old  man  over  again,  I  miss  my 
guess,"  the  first  speaker  responded  emphatically. 

John  turned  from  the  window,  took  a  small  flat  key 
from  his  pocket,  unlocked  the  desk,  and  pushed  back  the 
big  roll  top. 

Everything  was  just  as  his  father  had  left  it  the  last  time 
he  was  down,  the  day  he  had  signed  and  acknowledged  his 
will.  The  pen  with  its  big  hard-rubber  holder  lay  across 
the  sheet  of  blue  blotting-paper  where  he  had  dropped  it; 
there  was  a  big  blot  at  the  point  where  the  ink  had  run  off 
and  been  absorbed.  The  small  desk  clock  enclosed  in  a 
sphere  of  glass  had  run  down  days  before,  and  the  hands 
stood  at  thirteen  minutes  of  six.  John  found  himself  won- 

[413] 


Ganton  &  Co. 

dering  whether  the  clock  had  stopped  in  the  morning  or  the 
afternoon.  He  would  wind  it  and  set  it  by-and-bye. 

There  were  a  number  of  telegrams  and  letters  pushed  to 
one  side,  as  if  his  father  had  been  too  sick  or  too  occupied 
with  other  matters  to  attend  to  them;  they  were  all  of  a 
business  nature,  some  important,  others  unimportant. 
No  doubt  most  of  them  had  answered  themselves,  as  many 
telegrams  and  most  letters  will  if  lost  or  overlooked;  he 
would  turn  them  all  over  to  Browning. 

At  the  left  hand  he  noticed  a  file  of  papers  carefully 
gathered  together  and  held  by  a  steel  spring  clasp.  To 
his  surprise  he  found  they  were  his  cablegrams,  letters,  and 
reports,  from  the  first  wireless  message  about  the  Austrian 
meat  inspection  order  to  the  last  memorandum  he  had  sent 
regarding  business  at  the  Liverpool  office, —  all  arranged  in 
chronological  order.  What  were  they  doing  on  his  father's 
desk  ?  He  could  not  imagine.  There  they  were  just  as  if 
his  father  had  been  looking  them  over  the  last  time  he  was 
down.  That  such  was  the  fact  he  afterward  learned  from 
Browning,  for  his  father  had  sent  for  the  file  about  an  hour 
before  he  signed  his  will. 

John  Ganton  looked  over  his  own  reports  and  corre 
spondence  with  the  interest  of  a  man  who  is  reminded  of 
a  series  of  transactions  long  forgotten;  he  had  his  father's 
faculty  of  deciding  instantly,  acting  quickly,  and  dismissing 
a  matter  from  his  mind  completely;  he  did  not  burden  his 
memory  with  the  debris  of  past  transactions. 

When  he  read  that  first  wireless  message,  sent  months 
before,  he  recalled  the  beautiful  summer  day,  the  great  ship, 
its  deckload  of  smiling  and  chatting  passengers,  the  smok 
ing-room,  the  pompous  ambassador.  He  could  hear  the 

[414] 


The  End  and  the  Beginning 

hoarse  buzz  of  the  wireless  instruments  as  the  operator  com 
municated  with  the  distant  shore;  he  could  see  Mrs.  Town- 
send  lounging  indolently  in  her  chair, —  all,  it  all  came  back 
to  him  like  a  vision  from  another  world,  another  life,  for  what 
had  that  world  and  that  life  in  common  wHh  the  world  and 
life  before  him  ? 

It  seemed  so  long  ago. 

With  something  like  a  sigh  he  straightened  up,  threw 
his  shoulders  back  as  if  bracing  himself  for  a  burden,  and 
sent  for  Browning  to  bring  the  letters  and  telegrams. 

THE  END 


[415] 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


r 


A    GOO  Qo  """""""""""W 

"tU  151      8 


